


Fields of Gold

by Levade



Series: For Oath and Honour [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celeborn is amused, Cirdan is awesome, Everyone worries about Elrond, F/M, Galadriel and Glorfindel showdown, Glorfindel and his horses, Glorfindel being protective, Haldir is a bit of a snob, Jellyfish do have painful stings, LLF Comment Project, Mithrandir always shows up at a bad moment, Really ancient Elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levade/pseuds/Levade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Glorfindel before he helped rescue Frodo? Professor Tolkien never really said. Here then, is a possible ending for Glorfindel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Nudge

_Story Note: Third Age 2510 Celebrían departs over Sea, a year after being waylaid by Orcs and receiving a poisoned wound. Elrond would not see her again until after TA 3021 when the bearer of Vilya finally departed Middle-earth. This story was the result of a discussion about the intervening years and what a certain golden haired Elf Lord might do to occupy himself until called upon to ride out and lend his horse to a Hobbit. Consider it AU, for the Professor himself never told us of Glorfindel's fate._

* * *

"Glorfindel." There was more than a touch of exasperation in Elrond's voice as he finally looked up from the book he was attempting to read. The incessant pacing of his friend kept distracting him. "I do not require a constant watch by you and Erestor to be certain I do nothing rash." He held up a hand as the elf opened his mouth to speak. "Don't bother denying it, old friend." Setting the book aside, he stood. "I can promise I'll do nothing impetuous, which is obviously what you two expect."

Glorfindel stopped pacing, but the frown did not leave his face. "I will not see you grieve to death, Peredhel, nor berate yourself continuously for what you could have or should have done to ..." Glorfindel sighed, running a hand through his hair. Nothing had been the same since Celebrían had departed. Tainted in soul and body by a wound that would not heal, Celebrían had sought the peace of Aman and the healing offered there. Glorfindel could not fault her for that, even if it did leave her children and husband to find their way without her.

"You may speak her name, Glorfindel." Elrond's sigh as he sat was weary. "Everyone is tip-toeing around here as though I am going to come unhinged at the mere mention of her name." Grey eyes rose to meet blue. "I miss her, yes. I suppose I shall until I sail myself and we are together again, but please..."

The plea in the tone of voice did not go unnoticed, and Glorfindel frowned to hear it.

"...do not deny me my memories of a beloved wife."

Huffing, Glorfindel sat across the table from him. "I would deny you nothing, you know that."

"I know."

Both were silent for a time, the only sounds in the room the pop and sizzle of the wood as it burned in the fireplace.

Elrond smiled suddenly, earning a suspicious look from Glorfindel. He'd not seen that particular smile in a very long time, but it spoke only of devious things. "You say you would deny me nothing."

Glorfindel frowned, golden brows drawn together over a rather testy gaze. "I've said it before. What of it?"

"You denied me that sword whilst in Orodruin. What say you of that?"

Staring at the lord of the haven as if he'd lost his mind, Glorfindel pursed a lip. "You were over-tired, over-taxed and half-mad with pain, Elrond. Slaying Isildur would have only enraged the humans and possibly embroiled us in a conflict with them." He shrugged, settling back in his chair. "The young one came to his end soon enough through his own folly. There was no reason to hasten that."

Glorfindel's comment left Elrond to once again wonder just how much his friend truly did know of events before they unfolded. Prying information out of Glorfindel when he was in a good mood was difficult. When he was surly or stubborn one might as well go try to discern how many drops of water were carried past in the Bruinen.

"My point is you have denied me things." Elrond graced his words with an elegantly arched eyebrow and a smirk quite unbecoming for one said to be so peaceful in nature.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel reached out to trace a whorl in the wood of the table. "I try to steer you from that which would cause you pain."

"Is that why you tried to keep me from marrying Celebrían?"

A snort, and the blonde elf looked up, blue eyes twinkling. "No, that was to keep you from having Galadriel as an in-law. She is wise, but I warned you, did I not, that she is formidable?"

"Aye." Elrond shrugged, suddenly weary again. "And yet for all of her power, even she could not keep her daughter from sailing." Not adding aloud that Celebrían was now where her mother was forbidden to return, something he had no doubt greatly grieved the Lady of the Golden Wood.

Glorfindel was silent, but didn't miss the pointed look cast his direction. What he had seen before returning to life again was, at best, hazy. Half-memories that sparked to flame upon hearing the certain turn of a phrase, certainly nothing he relied on as solid warnings of a possible future.

It caused no small amount of annoyance that many looked at him, the slayer of a balrog, one of the rare elves who were returned to life in Middle-earth, as a source of divination.

As if he could say what the Valar would do?

Any who ventured such questions were met with the acerbic replies with which Glorfindel was known for. He'd pointed many towards his cousin, towards the mirror she prized so highly. Let them go to Galadriel for foretelling. He lived in the present and preferred to keep it that way. Let the future take them where it would.

He truly did not want to know the future, for if the Valar had some grand scheme to have him die valiantly a second time... No, he most certainly did NOT want to know that beforehand.

Heroics were far overrated in his opinion. How many heroes had been normal people who simply did the most they could in the given situation? Ecthelion certainly would not thank him for weaving tapestries that showed him in semi-deification, or sing those blasted awful songs minstrels made up glorifying a heroic death.

The truth was it had hurt like blazes and he still didn't like talking about it.

Ecthelion probably wouldn't either, for that matter. How many times had his friend already heard how ironic it was for the Lord of the Fountains to drown? Glorfindel should probably be glad it wasn't a balrog bearing a huge flower-shaped sword that struck him down.

Sometimes the Valar had very wicked humors, and it never did serve to try and gain their attention. No, far better to live a life not entangled with that of the Powers. He snorted at his own folly - how likely was that given that the father of his current lord was a star?

"Go to Mithlond."

"Eh?" Called back from his mental musings, Glorfindel blinked owlishly at Elrond.

Smiling indulgently, Elrond dismissed his captain with the regal wave of a hand. "Go. I have Erestor to talk me out of any mad plans I have to walk a rope over the falls or throw myself in..."

A snort spoke volumes. If anything, Erestor's tongue was far sharper than his own. Between the three of them they suffered fools, but not entirely willingly. "I believe it was Elrohir who attempted the rope walk, and dangled there above the falls for a candle mark before his twin stopped lecturing him." Glorfindel's lips curled up at the memory. "Just as well Elladan did talk him into the safety rope."

Elrond shook his head. Sometimes it surprised him that the haven had survived his sons. "'Twas your fault you know."

"Mine!"

The outraged expression on his friend's face was enough to encourage Elrond to continue. "Who told the twins the tales of whitewashing the towers of Gondolin, and how you and Ecthelion would walk the ropes between towers simply to outdo one another?" Glorfindel glowered at him. Though Glorfindel was the best of friends, most loyal of companions, and a formidable warrior, he had not always been the best of influences on two lively boys.

With a haughty frown Glorfindel looked away. "I didn't tell them to do so. I never advise anyone to try half the bone-head things Ecthelion and I did." He crossed his arms. "And as I recall 'twas I who typically wound up fixing whatever it was those two did."

"You," Elrond pointed a finger, "were the only one who knew how they had accomplished half their stunts!"

"Yes, yes, and you and Elros were the perfect images of innocence." Glorfindel arched an eyebrow, mouth curling upwards. "Shall we hunt up Maglor and verify it with him?"

"Stars above, no!" Elrond shook his head, rubbing his forehead. "I'm only thankful there was only you to fill their ears with tales." Storm-grey eyes twinkled in good humor. "My point, however, before you distracted me..."

Glorfindel snorted, shaking his head.

"...was I will be fine. I..." He sighed, dropping his head for a moment. "I want to go on with my life, my friend. If that means for a time pretending that I am fine..."

"I can grant you that." Nodding, Glorfindel tilted his head. "If I hear you're moping about, however, I'll be back, and Erestor will hear of it!"

A smile quirked Elrond's lips. "Just go. Go and say hello to Bronwë and Círdan for me."

"I will." Standing, he started to turn, stopping as Elrond held up a hand.

"Glorfindel..."

"Peredhel?" Allowing his amusement to show, Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. "Did you change your mind and decide to accompany me?"

"Hardly." Gazing at his friend, Elrond chose his words carefully. "Think on your own life whilst you're there. On what you would do from now until we sail some day." He nodded in satisfaction at the annoyed scowl aimed at him. "You cannot wait upon me forever you know."

"Truly?" Said in the driest tone possible, Glorfindel swept a mocking bow. "Then I shall attempt to find something to amuse myself beyond watching over you and your kin."

"Do." Elrond nodded, suddenly very serious, and turned back to his book before the other elf could comment. "Safe journey. Give my best to everyone there."

Clearly dismissed.

With a frown of annoyance, Glorfindel nodded and pivoted, to stalk out of the library, entirely missing the curl of Elrond's mouth as he smiled.

 

 

 

 


	2. Wonder As I Wander

* * *

"Will your brothers escort you then?"

Arwen paused from packing, grey eyes much like her father's going to the figure seated on the window box. It was amusing to her that one so renowned for his prowess on the battle field should be so comfortable in a ladies' sitting room, seated amongst the scattered bits of her outfits. It had always been thus; Glorfindel was as an uncle to her and her brothers, and nothing seemed to faze him. Then again, she'd heard tales of him refusing to hold the newborn twins for some unreasonable fear of hurting them, but she was much younger than her brothers. Her earliest memories of the golden-haired elf were of sitting in his lap, ear pressed to his chest, listening to his voice rumble in his chest. For Arwen, her father and Glorfindel had always represented security. They were rocks: steady, weathering the years with hardly a scratch, and seemingly would do so forever.

"No." Tossing aside a deep blue velvet gown, she sat on a lounge. "Will you speak to them before you leave? I worry for them, Glorfindel...and for Adar, should anything happen to them."

He nodded, frowning. "We all do, Undómiel. They are not entirely sane right now, either of them, but ..." Sighing, Glorfindel moved his feet, careful not to step on any of the gowns scattered as though a wind storm had blown into the room. "...they do not ride alone."

"Rangers?"

"Yes." His gaze lingered on Arwen, the jewel of Imladris. Was this right, letting her go, now of all times, to Lothlórien? To travel the very track that had led her mother to such suffering? "Take this." He pulled a sheath from his boot, holding it out to her. "Carry it with you at all times on the journey. I taught you to defend yourself, Undómiel, and you honed those skills on your brothers, but with them you showed mercy." He leaned forward to clasp her hand as she slowly accepted the weapon. "Orcs will not be so kind. We have sheltered you here, protected you from the harsher things of life, but I see your father's tenacity in you. Use this if you must and show no pity, Arwen."

As the larger, strong hands squeezed hers, Arwen bit her lip and looked at Glorfindel for a long moment. He had bounced her on his knee when she had been a baby, and often was worse than any when it came to protecting her from harsh things, but Glorfindel had also shown her how to shoot a bow and wield a knife. It was he who had taken her to the pells and shown her where best to strike an enemy and driven it into her head that while she was not allowed to ride out as her brothers did, she was expected to know how to defend herself and her realm if it came to that.

Arwen was no wilting daisy. "I will not suffer naneth's fate, Glorfindel." Voice quiet she drew her hands back and pulled the dagger to examine the silver blade. Slipping the blade home in the sheath, she met Glorfindel's gaze and let the worry in her own show. "Adar will be all right, won't he?" She suddenly looked much younger, anxiety stripping away the sophisticated poise. "He's not..."

"He will be fine in time, Undómiel. He grieves, but not to death." Standing, searching for a clear path, Glorfindel leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Be wary, bright star. I know you chafe at times under our burdensome protection, but we would not lose you to the same fate as your mother."

Gazing solemnly up at him, she nodded. "I'll stay with the escort." A pert smile curved her lips. "And I have the bow Adar gave me."

She was much like her father, a fact that always reassured Glorfindel. "See that you do. Oh, and..." Bending, he picked up a blood red gown, pursing a lip as he held it up. "...you certainly will brighten the lives of the Galadhrim with that."

Snatching it out of his hand, she swatted his arm. "Leave it be!" At the arched entry to the room, she plucked at his sleeve and Glorfindel stopped, turning with one eyebrow arched in a silent question. "You be careful as well, Gofi."

Huffing at the nickname the children all loved to tease him with, Glorfindel gave her a mock glare. She giggled and he capitulated, sweeping a gallant bow before leaving the room.

* * *

Erestor was next on his mental list of people to check on before leaving. No doubt Elrond's Chief Councilor would be thrilled to have him out of his way for a while. The raven haired, dark-eyed Noldo was organized to the smallest detail and kept the household running so smoothly everyone took him for granted.

Just as well, since Erestor was not afraid to remind everyone just how much he did.

It amused Glorfindel endlessly to do small things to annoy the other. In bad weather, he tromped in from the practice fields wearing muddy boots and dropped his wet cloak over the Noldo's chair. Days he worked in the stables, he would meander into Erestor's office, smelling of horse and leaving horse hair on the gorgeous burgundy cushions of the councilor's chairs. Erestor was delightfully predictable in his ranting.

Breezing into Erestor's office, Glorfindel picked up a stack of papers and dumped them on a low table, freeing up the chair he always took when visiting- the same one Erestor tried to keep occupied with all manner of things. Ignoring the annoyed huff, Glorfindel sat and grinned. "You'll be pleased to hear I'm leaving."

"Forever?" Was that dismay in the dark eyes? Surely not. It was gone before he could be certain, replaced with overt relief. "Thank the Valar! I'm sure your family in Valinor will be pleased to have you home again."

"No doubt, however I'm only going to Mithlond." With nonchalant disregard for the highly polished surface of the desk before him, Glorfindel rested his boot on the edge of the desk and peered at a minute scuff before raising his gaze to Erestor's. "I know you'll miss me, but try not to schedule yourself into oblivion before I return, hmm?"

"I had no idea you cared." The sarcasm was unmistakable as Erestor leaned forward to shove the boot off his desk. "Farewell, safe journey then." He bent his head to the papers before him.

Chuckling, Glorfindel slouched deeper into his chair and didn't move. "I simply don't want to have to take over your duties when you collapse, Erestor."

The dark haired elf snorted, but didn't look up.

"Erestor, one last thing." The jesting tone was gone, and he waited until Erestor looked up. Glorfindel knew it didn't have to be said, they had long ago agreed on this task, but doing so was a gesture in trust. "I know you will watch over him but if he falls in despair -"

"Glorfindel, I assure you," the dark eyes gleamed as Erestor looked at his friend. "You will know as soon as is possible should that happen." Dipping his quill in the ink pot, he paused and arched an eyebrow. "What, still here?" The eyebrow rose higher, dark eyes widening as Glorfindel rose and bowed, before turning to leave, not even leaving the door open, but shutting it quietly.

* * *

Packing his saddlebags was easily done, and it was only mid-day when Glorfindel rode out of the valley. Finding the twins was a bit harder than tracking anyone down in Imladris, but he had helped train them and knew many of their tricks. He'd rode and fought with the Rangers many times and knew best where to go looking for them, though they were like grey ghosts in the forests and not easily found.

Just at twilight, he picked up a faint trail and followed it. It led to a thick stand of old woods where a group of human men were gathered. Watching them silently for a time, Glorfindel watched as the twins slipped out of the deepening shadows, dropped down from a tree, and sauntered towards him.

"Look here, brother!" Elladan crowed, well-pleased. "Our old mentor spying on us."

"You did well." He nodded to them, approval showing in his smile. "I only spotted you as you moved into the last trees."

"I told you that was too close." Elrohir hit his twin's shoulder, earning a non-committal grunt.

"What brings you out here? Boredom? Or has Adar sent you away again for pestering everyone?"

Shooting a look of mock annoyance at the younger of the two, Glorfindel shook his head. "We'd best alert your companions to my presence before they come seeking to fill me with arrows."

Elladan caught his brother's gaze and nodded. In other words, Glorfindel didn't want to talk about it yet. "They'll be happy to see you again."

Elrohir nodded, stroking the nose of Glorfindel's horse as it lipped his tunic. "It's been some time since you rode with them."

"There was much to do." And he would not leave their father's side until he deemed it safe, everyone knew that. Loyalty and honor might have sent their family this guardian, but the twins knew it was love that bound him.

As predicted, the Rangers were happy to welcome the blonde elf, introducing him to several of the younger men who had not ridden with them in previous years. It wasn't long before Glorfindel was regaling them all with a wild tale of Beleriand as they sat around the fire eating.

They traded stories, men and elves, late into the night, until some sought their bedrolls. When only the three elves were left to keep the watch, Glorfindel spoke to them in quiet Quenya. His words were for them only, and he would not have the Rangers think he was berating the younger elves if indeed any could hear him, for he spoke so softly as to carry only to the twins ears.

"Will you be gone long then?"

"I do not know as yet." Glorfindel met first one's gaze, then the others. "Your sister leaves to visit your grandparents in a day or so. It might ease your father's mind, and your grandparent's as well, if you accompanied her." He squeezed Elrohir's shoulder as the younger twin sighed. "I know it is hard, Elrohir."

"Just...being there, in Imladris, is ..." The younger elf shook his head, grey eyes almost silver in the moonlight. "Everywhere are reminders of Naneth."

Elladan moved so that his shoulder touched his twin. "We've done much to cleanse the trail between Imladris and the pass over Caradhras." He met Glorfindel's gaze, frowning. "Is Adar ordering us home?"

"No." He almost smiled at the defiance in the young elf's gaze. "I only wanted to find you and let you know about your sister."

Nodding, mouth still a touch surly, Elladan relaxed his tense shoulders. "We could accompany her."

"And see Daernaneth and Daeradar again?" Elrohir nodded slowly. "It might be a comfort to them as well."

It didn't surprise Glorfindel when Elladan simply shrugged. The twins looked identical to those who did not know them, but for all their similarities they were very different. Elrohir had always been far more sensitive to emotions, tempering his fiery brother. "We'll return to escort Arwen at dawn."

"And where do you go, Gofi?" Elrohir's smile was teasing. "Going to while away some time in Mithlond?"

Elladan snorted, joining in the teasing. "Why don't you just ask her to stay in Imladris and save all the jaunting to Mithlond?" He pretended to consider the thought, ignoring the glare pinned on him. "Then again, seeing the real you might be entirely too shocking-"

"Oh, no..." Glorfindel turned them with a hand on their shoulders, giving each a push forward. "My personal life is not up for discussion, younglings, and most certainly not when on watch."

"Right." Elladan nodded to his brother, and drifted into the forest.

"Send her my greetings, Gofi." With a wink, Elrohir disappeared in the opposite direction of his brother, leaving the elda alone.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel took up the third direction, melting quickly into the silence of the dark woods.

* * *

"That's the fourth one washed up in a ten-day period."

Bronwë knelt next to Círdan, reaching out to stroke the grey and black feathers of the dead bird. She shook her head as she examined the carcass. "I don't see any wounds, nor broken bones."

"It was a young bird." Gazing out at the ocean he loved so deeply, the shipwright shook his head, silver hair catching to float on the breeze. "What is killing them?"

"You've not found any seals?" Wiping her hands in the sand and dusting them together, the healer sighed. "Could a group of whales have wandered into the Gulf again?"

"No seals this far from the quays and dunes, and no...I've not seen any whales except in the open sea." Standing, Círdan pursed a lip. "Be careful, Bronwë. If some illness is killing these creatures we might not have to worry..."

She nodded. "But my human patients would not fare as well. I will."

"Let me know if you see or sense anything odd, or if anyone comes to you with strange stories." Frowning, the lord of the Grey Havens stroked his beard.

Shivering as the breeze puffed against her, Bronwë rubbed her arms. "Should we warn the men at least? Not to eat the fish?" The plague, though it had been nearly a millennium ago as humans counted time, was still vivid in her mind. Too many had died throughout Eriador, and she would not see it happen again for a lack of warning.

Círdan shook his head. "No...we don't want to alarm them needlessly and fisher folk are already superstitious enough." He stretched his senses out, trying to discern if there was illness in the waters of the gulf. "I sense nothing amiss."

"I need to get back." Leaning forward to place a quick kiss on the ancient elf's cheek, she squeezed his arm. "Glorfindel sent word that he's coming for a visit."

"Oh?" Silver eyes twinkling in amusement now, he titled his head. "And you dressed in one of your oldest gowns?" Tsk'ing, he sighed, pretending to ignore her indignant stare. "Bronwë, if you truly want to impress the lad..."

"Stop right there." Bronwë rolled her eyes, well aware that one of Círdan's favorite games was to tease her about eligible males. "How long have I known him? Haven't we been but friends the entire time?"

"Child..." Now he chuckled, lifting a hand to stroke back a lock of nut brown hair. "How long ago did you and Aldamir break your betrothal? And since then..." Círdan sighed, seeing that she was not going to listen. "Let me know when he arrives. It will be good to see him again."

With a nod, and a half-hearted smile, she turned and walked back up the beach, towards the wooden walks that led back into the haven.

Bronwë had just returned from gathering herbs and roots in the forest when she heard the shouting. It was coming from near the market where the fishermen sold their catch every day. A small group of humans and several elves had gathered, staring at the dunes just beyond the wooden walkways. Not far from the dunes the trees grew large and the forest deepened. Often the seals came close to the market, attracted by the smell of fish. Usually they were content to sun themselves near the dunes and rocks, ignoring the humans.

Unless they were offered food.

"It's there! It bit my son and went back in!"

"They normally are happy to be left alone, on the shore of the sea. Are you certain the boy did not try to touch or feed it?"

Walking over to stand next to the elf speaking, Bronwë saw a young boy huddled against the skirts of the woman who had shouted. He was holding his bleeding hand to his chest, and whimpering. "What happened?" Speaking quietly, she met the woman's angry gaze.

"A seal bit my son. Damron was just curious and knew no better. He only wanted to see it closer, but he did not touch it!" The mother glared at the two elven marchwardens.

"May I see?" At a nod from the mother, Bronwë knelt, smiling softly at the boy. She spoke quietly, but loud enough to for the child to hear as the crowd continued to speak to the other elves. "Were you curious about how its skin felt, Damron?"

The child nodded, sniffing.

"I see it." Faelon glanced at his companion. Both were Silvan, fair of hair and eyes, and often patrolled this side of the city so near their beloved woods. "It does not look well."

Thalion spread his hands. "Milady, the animal is most likely sick. It has not retreated to the sea and is alone."

A low growl and rustling from the tall sea grass near the dunes drew everyone's attention back to the creature. It was making odd gurgling noises and lay on its side, making no effort to get back to the sea. Faelon grimaced and moved forward, singing softly.

"What will they do to it?" Damron bit his lip, tentatively holding out his hand to the healer. He knew her from a previous visit when he'd fallen from a tree and broken his arm. She was gentle and had made it stop hurting. "Will they kill it?" He'd seen a horse killed once when it had broken a leg.

Bronwë glanced at Faelon who was still singing softly, quieting the sick creature which began to moan piteously. The sound was wrenching, reminding the elves that darkness was ever spreading over the lands that had once known no blight. "I think they must, Damron, so that it will not suffer or bite anyone else." The animal was already too sick to be helped, she could see that as Faelon moved suddenly, holding the seal's head and twisting up and to the side, hard and fast. The creature didn't even blink or gasp, but fell slack as the elf gently laid its body on the ground.

"I am sorry." Faelon looked up at the crowd, eyes sad. "He was quite ill and could not return to the sea." He ran a hand down the seal's body. "It feels as though he might have been thrown against the rocks. Perhaps by the high tides during our last storm."

"Or a whale hunting it." Thalion turned to the healer. "Bronwë, you'll treat the child?"

Bronwë nodded, meeting the mother's worried gaze. "If you'll come with me?"

"Nana..." The boy, trembling now, reached for his mother. "You won't let them snap my neck, will you?"

"Damron!" Scooping her son up with a forced smile, the mother cuddled him close. Her gaze went to the healer, who now stood. "Of course not."

Bronwë nodded, meeting the frightened gaze. "We'll need to wash it out and wrap the wound, but I believe he'll be fine."

"We'll take care of this." Faelon nodded as they passed and his companion shrugged.

"That's all, my good people. Let's get back to business!" A city guard, dressed in a dark blue uniform, made a shooing gesture. "Go on, let the wardens do their job and get back to yours, eh?"

* * *

Winter had yet to release the land and it was chilly, a breeze blowing in off the ocean, carrying with it a thick bank of dense fog that crept in over the hills and trees. Bronwë walked through the garden behind her cottage to the ancient pines that stood as silent sentinels, smiling at the fog swirling around her. Leaning against one of the trees, she sighed, and looked up.

It was too foggy to see the stars from the ground, but up in the boughs...

With hardly a thought, she leaped up, grabbed the lowest branch and was soon high up in the branches, comfortably seated on a limb, leaning against the trunk. The view here was always spectacular, and she sighed in contentment, watching the fog slowly creep up the coastline, obscuring the gulf in a blanket of silvery grey.

Lifting her eyes to the stars, the healer relaxed and let her mind wander, safe in the embrace of the old pine.

* * *

_**TBC** _

_**Thank you for reading** _


	3. What Was Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go to all those who have read this story, and to three people who especially helped me with it. DragonConfused, Nilmandra and EverleighBain. Fifteen years, three betas, I feel like a lottery winner to have known such talented, lovely ladies. I wish the very best for all of you. Thank you for all your words and friendship.

* * *

 

"You ride by yourself?" Elladan pushed his horse's head aside as it turned to nuzzle him, obligingly scratching under its chin. "I realize you are able, Glorfindel, but the orc tribes have been virulent this season."

"How many times have you told us not to let our arrogance lead us to our deaths?" Elrohir ducked under his mount's neck to quirk an eyebrow at Glorfindel.

Shaking his head at being chided by younglings whose father had not even been born when he first walked Middle-earth, Glorfindel finished fastening the saddlebag and turned to face them. "I will be wary, trust me. When am I not?" Seeing the stubborn expressions so much like that of their father, he chuckled. "It is not arrogance that I ride alone, it is confidence. I have ages of experience you know."

"Yes, and Adar has said it made you cocky in the past." Elladan, never one to back down, crossed his arms and stared at his former teacher. "Ride with the Rangers, they're going towards the Shire at any rate. It is on your way."

"And if you are attacked you'll have back up." Elrohir nodded, taking up the argument where his twin left off. "These orcs have not been as stupid as they were in the past, Glorfindel. They know the terrain, and use it best to their advantage." Stepping forward as the elda opened his mouth, Elrohir placed a hand on his arm. "Please, Gofi. We lost Nana to them. We would not see any more of our family lost."

Elladan nodded. "And I doubt Námo wants to see you in his halls again so soon." He smirked at the frown aimed at him. "Imagine what Ecthelion would say were you killed this time by something so mundane as an orc."

Glorfindel stared at Elladan a long moment, his ire with the taunts disappearing as he discerned the concern that prompted them. Finally he laughed, and reached out to clasp each twin briefly. "I'll wait and ride with the Dúnedain so you two don't fret yourselves to bits."

Almost as one, the twins swung up on their horses. Elladan lifted his bow in a salute as they wheeled their horses and rode into the murky light of dawn just breaking over the trees.

Smiling to himself, Glorfindel stroked his horse's neck as he listened to the sounds of the Rangers readying themselves to ride out. He loved those twin rascals, despite the silver strands he always claimed they gave him and regardless that none could find any such shade in his hair.

Elrond's words came back to him and he sighed. He had been sent back with rather murky instructions, typical of the Valar, and sometimes wondered precisely what they would think of the life he had made for himself. In no hurry to find out however, Glorfindel swung lightly into the saddle and kneed his horse towards the Dúnedain. Time to let them know their unexpected visitor would be riding with them for a time.

* * *

"Milord?" Erestor hesitated in the arched entry, uncertain whether Elrond wanted company or solitude. It was hard to tell these days, harder than before... The councilor almost sighed, but Elrond looked up just then, grey eyes dark with the melancholy that haunted him almost ceaselessly.

"Hmm? Oh,...Erestor." Blinking once, as if clearing his gaze, the haven lord offered a weary smile. "Come and join me."

Pleased at both the company and hoping he could distract Elrond, Erestor entered and settled in the chair opposite his lord's. The fire was warm, the flames somehow comforting, even as the chill air of night drifted in the open arched doors and windows.

It was something that had at first shocked Erestor; building without closing out the elements at least in the height of winter? But no, Elrond had wanted the rooms of his haven to always be full of fresh air, open to all breezes that tickled past the trees to tease the elves' hair.

He'd protested, imagining no small armies of insects, animals, snow, rain and leaves entering, unhindered. His own birth-home, now lost to the ravages of Sauron and his armies of orcs, had seen a great deal of snow during winter, close as it was to the higher mountain ranges. Valleys were deep, and must surely fill with snow!

Ah...youth. Erestor smiled, staring into the flames. He'd been young then, much younger. Still grieving, sharp-tongued in his anger, and pain at losing his family and home in Eregion. Even so, he had not wanted to stay in Mithlond where the High King ruled. The same king who had left so many to the mercies of Sauron, regardless that the smiths had been fooled.

None of them deserved the black hoards that swarmed from the hills, cutting down infant, female and male alike. Help had finally come, Elrond and the armies of the king... Too late.

Elrond had offered them an alternative - a new haven he was founding for wounded to come and find healing. A sanctuary for all who might seek and find it. Erestor had followed...and never once looked back.

During the building of the haven, Erestor had protested against the open designs. How could they possibly defend against any enemy? How could they keep things that were best left outside...outside?

That was the last time he had underestimated Elrond.

In Ost-in-Edhil, Erestor had seen the great smiths at work, the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and been in awe of what they could craft from mere metal. Designs that nearly breathed, flowed, took on a life of their own.

In Imladris, he had beheld another sort of Elven craft at work, one more foreign to the Noldor. Here, there were more Sindar, and a handful of Silvan, quiet folk who wrought wonders in wood and seemed able to nearly become one with their beloved forests. They had shown the secrets of blending Elven will with the forests, until the haven almost breathed it was so alive.

Such was Lothlórien, or so he had heard. He'd yet to make a trip there, but someday...

"Where do you wander tonight, friend?" Elrond's smile was relaxed as he held out a half-filled glass of wine.

Accepting it with a nod of thanks, Erestor drew in a deep breath, letting the delicate aroma of the wine tease his senses. "The beginnings of Imladris."

"Indeed?" Arching an eyebrow, Elrond stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. A slight smile lifted the melancholy from his expression. "And what takes you back to those early days?"

Gesturing to the openings where the dark forms of trees danced against the brilliance of the stars, Erestor quirked a smile. "The chill in the air, actually. I thought we would all wake to find ourselves covered in snow and wild creatures."

Elrond nodded, gaze tracking the path of the brightest star for a long moment. "You weren't alone in that, you know. Glorfindel had been used to encircling walls, and very thick, well-guarded ones at that." A smirk curled his lips. "The Silvans despaired of ever convincing him...until one of them happened to mention that even such defenses had not saved Gondolin."

"True." If his smile was a touch bitter, it was excusable. "The valley itself is a protection."

"Yes, as is the Ford, and the very trees around us, should such a need ever arise." Shrugging velvet-clad shoulders, Elrond pursed a lip. "Silvan Elves are quite...unknowable in some ways. They are not given to speaking as much as the rest of us, nor are they fond of divulging their secrets." The grey eyes met the darker gaze of the councilor. "Give them the opportunity and room to work, however, and you may well see the wondrous."

Erestor nodded. "As I recall, the Silvan Elves in Lord Thranduil's haven are fiercely protective." A rueful smile tugged at his lips as he remembered being surrounded before he could even twitch a thumb towards his sword, staring at the pale wraiths that had somehow soundlessly encircled their travelling party. "Loyal to a fault."

"Quite...once you prove you are someone worthy of that trust." Elrond smiled for his rather bookish friend. "There is something to be said for the 'primitive' clans."

He took no offense, as none was meant. Both of them were of Noldor descent, though Elrond's was such a mixed lot that it was no surprise he seemingly was related in some way to almost every major family in Middle-earth. Elrond shared Erestor's love of learning and lore. That, beyond all other things, had won him utterly to this one elf's side.

"It seems so peaceful this night." Slouching a bit in his seat, drinking the wine with deep appreciation, Erestor pretended not to notice his lord's grin as he kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes before the fire.

"As it should be without the valley's worst troublemakers." Elrond chuckled, tempted to tell Erestor that Glorfindel had a habit of wiggling his toes exactly that way. The golden and raven-haired councilors were opposites in many ways, and yet much alike. They typically offered him views from the extreme of the other, but it granted him what he needed: balance. "My sons and Glorfindel," he clarified, seeing the politely blank expression offered to him. "Erestor, you may speak freely, my friend. I should hope you know that after so long."

Sighing, the younger elf nodded. Like everyone else in the haven, he had been the brunt of many of the twins' pranks at one time or another, and they had been sat down and made to listen to sharp lectures countless times. Elladan and Elrohir were lively, bright and had their sire's rather quirky sense of humor. Or maybe that was all Glorfindel's doing. Ai! The elda was nearly as bad at times! How could an elf who possessed so many sterling qualities also be such a contrary, insubordinate creature?

Elrond called it mischievous, tolerating it with amused affection. Erestor had, more than once, called Glorfindel treasonous, and wondered why...WHY his lord didn't send him packing. No doubt it had something to do with that re-embodiment folderol, and charm that seemed to win so many over. Not him,...oh no. He didn't miss Glorfindel tracking in mud, leaving horse hairs all over his cushions, breezing in to disrupt whatever it was he was doing... "When will they be back?"

Was that a rather plaintive note in the councilor's voice? Suppressing a knowing smirk, Elrond offered a negligent shrug. "I suspect the twins will spend some months in Lothlórien and Glorfindel gave no time for his return." He offered a genuine smile. "I miss them too, but they'll be back soon, probably with the autumn rains, and we shall bemoan the mud in the halls again."

Erestor nodded, suddenly chuckling. He lifted his glass. "To laughter and our sanity, milord." The smile it garnered made him pleased that he had done so.

"Well said, Erestor." Elrond raised his glass to clink it gently against the other. "Well said."

* * *

_**TBC** _


	4. Songs Out of Sorrow

  


* * *

Healers were summoned at all hours of the day, be it dark or light. Both births, and death from age, happened most often in the earliest hours of the morning, and so as Bronwë hurriedly dressed, her sleepy mind fell into the pattern of habit. Swinging a cloak around her shoulders, grabbing a kit near the door for just such emergencies, she stared for a moment at the man who had run to fetch her. "Say again?"

"The quay, where they unload -"

Bronwë was gone without a sound before he could finish his sentence.

A summons to the quay was generally not for a cut hand or minor injury. Fishermen were a hardy folk, fiercely proud and independent by nature. They also knew how to treat anything from a hand sliced open by a gutting knife to a broken bone. Most of the men were proud of how hardy they were, and if they indeed did need a healer, they always, always found a way to make the journey themselves. Only the most serious of injuries ever necessitated a healer coming to the quay for anything other than bartering on some fresh fish or crab.

A crowd was already gathering, word spread quickly in the city, and it was easy to find which quay to go to simply by following the bobbing torches and lanterns. Círdan's voice carried over the sound of the crowd like a clear bell, and he stood on the deck of one of his own ships, addressing the people gathered. "Remain calm. We do not yet know for certain what has happened, nor if, indeed anything. I urge you all to stay calm."

There was a near compulsion in his words, a force of will that quieted nearly all of the crying women. Bronwë slipped through the crowd to get to one person she could see laid out on the ground, a young woman with two children kneeling at her side.

"We know where they were headed, and that is where we will first look." Círdan's eyes swept the gathering, his silver eyes daring any to dispute, yet his expression was calm. "No more than five ships will join us in the search, and you will follow my lead." There was no disputing that tone of command, and it was a reminder to all that though he seldom acted as such, Círdan was Lord of the Grey Havens. His word was command in times such as these. "Organize yourselves however you determine. We will wait for you at the mouth of the gulf. Go!" Swinging down, he began barking orders to his own crew, readying the great swan ship to weigh anchor.

Bronwë nimbly dodged out of the way as the men were suddenly mobilized into action, yelling to one another as they sorted out which ships to take and who would go. Reaching the woman prostrate on the ground, she knelt. "What happened to her, do you know?"

"Mum collapsed when they said Da's ship was lost." The child, no more than ten years old, held her mother's hand and gazed at the healer with fearful eyes. "He was due back with the rest of the fleet last night."

Bronwë nodded as she felt under the woman's chin. "When is your mother due to have her baby, child?" She ran gentle hands down the distorted abdomen, pausing to look at the girl and boy crouched there with her. They were young, so young. The boy still had his milk teeth and the round body form of a baby.

"Soon, Mistress Healer. Very soon." Tears filled the blue eyes and she reached to pull her baby brother, sitting silently next to her, closer. "Is she...?"

"She fainted, probably from shock." Letting her senses go outward, Bronwë's eyes unfocused as she shifted her hands lower on the woman's abdomen. After a silent moment she blinked, refocusing on the girl. "The babe's heartbeat is strong still."

"Thank the stars," breathed the girl. She looked up at several other women standing behind the healer, watching. "She's fainted."

"We need to move her away from here. How far is home?"

"My home is nearer, we can take her there." Walking around to slip a hand under the unconscious woman's shoulders, an older woman, stern of face but gentle of eye, met Bronwë's gaze. "Do ye think the babe will come for this?"

"I don't know yet." Handing her small bag to the girl, Bronwë slipped her hand under the other arm of the fallen woman, and helped lift her slowly from the ground, watching to see if there was any reaction. Only when her head lolled back and to the side did she groan in pain, and Bronwë saw the blood matting the dark hair. "Come, let us get her comfortable and get you children out of this cold."

They scampered after her, the small boy clutched in his sister arms. "Glows, sissy!"

Brethil shushed her brother, but didn't miss the kindly smile the healer turned on them. "She's an Elf, Gelmir. You have just never seen them at night."

"Oooh..." Sticking his thumb in his mouth, the boy held on tightly as they hurried on through the early dawn.

* * *

The city was strangely quiet, an eerie place to the golden haired elf riding through the streets. Mithlond was a busy city, full of human men, women and children. On a usual morning the rambling roads would be alive with women hanging washing, children laughing and playing and over there... Glorfindel frowned at seeing the group of benches beneath the spreading old oak tree empty. There was always a group of old men there, playing chess and arguing.

Seeing a city guard walking towards him, he reined the stallion in and nodded a greeting. "Where is everyone?"

"Ah..." Sighing, the man scratched at the chest of his dark blue uniform. "Down at the docks. We lost three vessels night before last. Nary a soul saved on any of them, and all three ships gone down from the looks of things." He peered up at the elf, noting the travel-stained garb and dust on the chestnut stallion. "On your way to the Havens, are you?"

"Thank you." Glorfindel kneed his horse forward, and soon the clopping of hooves on the cobblestones was the only sound. A dog barked nearby and several gulls flew overhead, crying loudly.

It was a short ride through Mithlond to reach Grey Havens, which truly was set apart from the city. There was a sprawl of thick woods here, and some rolling hills that tumbled down towards the ocean. The Elven haven was nestled amongst the trees, nearly blending in with the scenery, and had an entirely different, older feel to it than Mithlond.

Urging his stallion to a canter as the cobblestones stopped, Glorfindel rode towards Círdan's sprawling home overlooking the ocean. Built on a solid rock bluff jutting out from a hill, the house was built from stone, and had withstood some of the worst storms of many, many sun 'rounds. Indeed it looked as weathered as the rock it crouched on, almost as if it had grown there.

No one was there, which did not surprise him, and he led the horse down a zigzagging, narrow path down to the beach. Círdan's shipyards were near, within sight for anyone with Elven eyes, and he could hear the sounds of a gathering carried in on the wind blowing off the ocean.

The tang of the breeze made his horse snort, nudging him, nearly knocking him from the path. "Calmly, you ridiculous creature. If I fall, I'm hanging on to your reins, and you..." Stopping to turn, Glorfindel gazed into the stallion's deep brown eyes. "...are going to hear about it should I survive."

Snorting again, Nimbrethil pawed a hoof against the sand. Glorfindel tugged gently on the horse's right ear. "Great lout, you can wallow about in the sand soon enough, but for now...mind yourself."

They finally got to the bottom and the blond elf once again swung up in the saddle, taking the horse down to the wet, packed sand, chiding the impatient stallion who wanted to flat-out run. Settling on a nice canter, they soon reached the shipyards, and Glorfindel again dismounted, leading Nimbrethil towards the crowd gathered on a long, wide pier.

Círdan was at the end of the pier, standing on a tackle box, speaking of those lost.

Three ships. That was indeed a harsh blow to the community, a great loss of life that would impact most everyone. Most of those gathered were human, but Glorfindel saw nearly a dozen elves in the crowd, heads bowed as they listened to the words spoken, honoring those lost. Even the stallion picked up on the mood, quieting and contenting himself with lipping his elf's cloak.

"We consign their souls to Ilúvatar's keeping." Turning to face the ocean, Círdan lifted three evergreen wreaths high and held them there for a moment, before releasing them into the waves.

All around him, people did the same, murmuring quiet words before sending the wreaths out. The water was soon awash with greenery that slowly, seemingly against the pull of the waves, travelled out towards the deep sea.

Glorfindel stayed put, watching as the crowd gradually began to leave, small groups of people, arms around one another, walking slowly back towards their homes.

Safe for another day.

His gaze went to two figures standing at the head of the pier still, one, with silver hair streaming in the wind, the other's hair the shade of chestnuts. She was leaning into his shoulder, and Glorfindel could hear they were speaking, but couldn't make out the words.

Círdan never showed a great deal of emotion. He was ancient, and had seen much sorrow and loss in his time, as well as great joy. Like any who endured so long, and enjoyed life yet, he took the losses as part of the natural rhythm of life. They saddened him, sometimes angered him if they were losses from foolish causes, but Círdan remained stoic most of the time. Calm, unruffled by all but the greatest storms of life.

Bronwë was a healer, and as such, another creature altogether. Glorfindel had come to know their temperaments well, after living with Elrond for so long. Elrond, who even now berated himself for not being able to heal his beloved wife. He grieved her loss, and the pain of separation. Healers felt the joys and pains of life more keenly than most, their senses far more honed. Elrond had trained Bronwë, and she held the same ideals of treating any who came to her, regardless of race.

She was feeling the strain of so much grief, Glorfindel could see it in the way she stood, shoulders curled forward, head down as if to ward off physical blows. He was walking before he consciously realized it, aware of Nimbrethil's hooves making a dull thud against the wood of the pier.

Both elves turned after he taken only several steps, facing him. He smiled wearily, dropping the stallion's reins to step forward, arms slightly open. His invitation was clear, and she did not ignore it. He had been a bulwark of strength in other times, a loyal friend who had been there to dry tears, comfort and encourage. Wrapping his arms around the slender form as Bronwë stepped into his embrace, Glorfindel could feel the tension in her, and rested his cheek against the silk of her hair as she pressed her face into his shoulder. He had been on the road with the Dúnedain for over ten days and smelled of sweat and horse, dust and rain. She didn't seem to care, hugging him tightly as his cloak fell around her.

"Good to see you, lad." Círdan smiled a welcome as he walked slowly up to stand with them.

Nodding, Bronwë pulled back to quirk a smile at him. "Why is it we see you only in the best and worst of times, Glorfindel? Perhaps you did spend too much time in Mithrandir's company..."

Smiling at the teasing, the blond elf arched an eyebrow. "The road leads both ways, my lady, and there are friends in Imladris who would delight to see you again." Blue eyes went to the shipwright. "You as well, old barnacle, though prying you from your ships is near impossible."

Círdan snorted, shaking his head. "Come along. I've no doubt you're weary from riding so far, and if I know you..." Humor lit the silver eyes. "You're longing for some mead and fresh bread."

Glorfindel nodded, expression one of distaste. "And a bath. Dúnedain truly have no use for such things whilst on the road."

Bronwë had already left them, scratching Nimbrethil's head and speaking softly to the stallion who shoved his head against her chest. "You'll spoil him again," Glorfindel groused. "Even now he slobbers all over my best tunics and cloaks if I ignore him too long."

"Don't listen to him," Bronwë told the horse, taking the reins as they walked, the stallion falling amicably in next to her. Leaning in towards the horse, she whispered, "He's part Vanya. What do they know of animals?"

"I heard that!"

A soft laugh was his only answer, leaving Glorfindel shaking his head as they walked back to Círdan's home. It was good to know some remained constant in a world that altered seemingly all things.

* * *

_**TBC** _


	5. The Pull of Two Worlds

**Chapter V: The Pull of Two Worlds**

* * *

The lure of hot water and being clean won out over food by only the smallest of margins, even though it meant lugging buckets of heated water himself, since Círdan had given the small staff he kept in his home a day free of their usual chores. It gave him, he had told Glorfindel with a smirk, time to do nothing but that which he wanted.

Stripping off his travel-stained clothing, dropping it all in a heap with his boots, Glorfindel winced as the heat of the water made his foot tingle. Oh...it was lovely though. Maybe not quite as nice as the hot springs they had in Imladris, but after days on horseback, riding in pounding, icy rain, the heat of the water was bliss.

Inching in until he was submerged to his chest, Glorfindel sighed in contentment. He gazed at the fire for a time, content to do nothing but luxuriate in the heat. A long tendril of golden hair clung to his arm as he wiped his face, and he grimaced. His hair might not appear dirty, but he could feel the dust and grime sticking to the silky strands. It was his vanity, of course, that hair. In a haven like Imladris, surrounded by his darker Noldor cousins, he was a striking contrast. Though he had long left any peacock tendencies behind with his youth in Valinor, he was still vain enough to want his hair clean and shining. Sinking even lower, he wetted his head, dabbed his fingers in a paste-like goo which smelled exactly like the soap used in Imladris, and set to scrubbing himself from head to toes. He was determined to rid himself of the last of wet horse smells before he left the room.

There was a slap on the wooden entry, announcing someone was outside the bathing room and he ducked under the water, coming up sputtering slightly at the taste of soap on his lips as he slicked hair out of his face. "Enter!"

"I thought you'd want to sit and soak a bit, and knowing how fastidious you are..." Círdan set the two large containers of water down with a grunt. "I figured you'd want to do so in clean water. Don't burn yourself now." He turned to leave. "Be right back with the cooler water, so you might want to let the dirty water drain."

Amused at the thought of the Lord of the Haven tending him personally, Glorfindel found the drain plug with his toes and watched as the water began gurgling down, out of the tub. It wasn't chilly, not with the large fire burning, warming the room, and he had lost all self-conscious body shyness long ago. After several hundred years of living (and hearing it from the elders) it finally dawns on each young elf that a body is just a housing for the fëa, and though delightful, amazing in the countless varieties of beauty, strength and agility, it was only that. A body.

Time in Námo's presence had taught Glorfindel to treasure the soul and mind far more than the mere hroä, not only in himself, but others. Elves cherished beauty, both in nature and in beings, but his gaze was deeper than the mere hroä since returning from the Blessed Realm. It was very hard to hide the true nature of oneself from the Eldar, and amongst the elves, no one felt any need to do so.

He stood, slicking his hands down his chest, mulling on his thoughts. Eöl and Maeglin were sometimes accounted as evil, but he had been alive then. Had seen with his own eyes, and could only shake his head sadly and say the darkness of Morgoth tainted all of Arda, and with it, those who were bound to her. Why else had the Valar felt it necessary to sink Beleriand? The taint of Morgoth had gone too deeply into that land. Too much blood spilt, and too many dark deeds, it had touched them, every last one.

The scuff of a leather shoe alerted him of Círdan's arrival and he stepped out of the tub, walking over to pick up one of the containers of hot water. The intake of breath made him look up and arch an eyebrow.

"When did you gain that?" Círdan frowned, gesturing with a nod to his back.

"Ah." Glorfindel twisted slightly to look over his shoulder, wincing at the pull of muscle over the bruise. "Nimbrethil spooked when we accidentally flushed some Shire children out of a hiding hole." Offering a rueful grin, he glanced in the tub to be certain the drain was closed and began pouring the hot water. "He chose an unfortunate place to rear and I tested the strength of a tree limb."

"It looks as though the limb won, lad." Círdan chuckled, shaking his head as he poured a small amount of cold water in the tub. "If you want I'll get some liniment from Bronwë. That looks to be a deep bruise, and it would ease the ache."

Pouring in most of the second bucket of hot water, testing it with a hand, Glorfindel climbed in and sank into the water with an appreciative sigh. Grinning at the mariner as he rested his head against the edge of the tub, he closed his eyes. "You'll spoil me yet, Círdan, and turn me into that vain court cock you claim I was in earlier Ages."

"All that gold and white gleaming as you rode out..." Snorting, shaking his head, Círdan took up the empty containers, a fond gleam in his eyes. "You were a target, Glorfindel. A large, gleaming target that screamed to be hit."

A shrug was not an eloquent answer but all Glorfindel was inclined to offer in his relaxed state. He didn't even open his eyes when, a bit later, Círdan came back in the room.

"Liniment and your saddle packs," he informed the reclining figure. "I know you're not the least bit shy of padding around without a stitch on, but let's not push Bronwë's sensibilities, eh?"

Glorfindel just snorted, and sank deeper into the water, leaving Círdan to chuckle as he walked out.

* * *

"...was some nets and a bit of sail. No trace of any ship. Just like they'd been sucked up and away."

Glorfindel, feet bare, wet hair gleaming again and dripping down the back of his clean tunic, padded into the kitchen, following the voices of his friends. Pushing fingers through the thick, wet gold of his hair, he smiled at the pair who looked up as he entered. "Now I feel fit to keep company with you." He settled into a chair to the left of Círdan, across the table from Bronwë and gave a longing look at the bare table. "Wasn't there some mention of food?"

Bronwë stood, waving Círdan down. "Sit and talk, I'll get it." Shaking her head and smiling, she set about putting water in the kettle and hanging it over the fire.

"How is everyone in Imladris?" Turning a wooden figure in his hands, Círdan studied his work, and went back to his carving.

It was a careful question, and Glorfindel pursed a lip, tapping a finger on the wooden surface of the table. "They are getting on with living again, learning to do so without Celebrían."

Setting a still-warm loaf of bread on the table, along with a knife, fresh butter and cheese, Bronwë straightened and bit her bottom lip. "We saw the twins when they escorted their mother here." Looking down, she shook her head. "I almost did not recognize Celebrían, so worn and weary was she. I cannot imagine what it was like for..." She turned, walking to the fire, keeping her back to them.

A frown darkened the sapphire eyes as Glorfindel nodded, gaze following her. "Elrond nearly wore himself to nothing in attempting to heal her, but the wound never did fully heal. He blames himself."

Círdan shook his head as Bronwë turned, frowning. "He knows better than that." The ancient elf looked up, meeting eyes almost equally old. "He's a gifted healer, but no Vala."

"Tell him that!" Glorfindel shook his head, sending hair slithering forward over his shoulders. "Stubborn peredhel. As though that Maiar blood should allow him the miraculous."

"He's accomplished the miraculous before," Bronwë pointed out as she set a platter of dried fish on the table. "I can imagine the pain and frustration it caused him to be unable to help his own wife."

Glorfindel nodded, expression grim as he met her gaze. "Yes, and it rendered him largely unable to deal with the twins, who insist on attempting to rid all of the forests around Imladris of orcs, in vengeance for their mother."

"Elladan has always dealt with pain by direct action."

Círdan nodded slowly. "It can only lead to trouble though." In his eyes, as he looked up, was the deep, melancholy and wisdom of the oldest elves. "Fixing attention on one thing is never healthy."

"I know." Glorfindel bowed his head, frowning as he drummed his fingers on the table. All three of them had lived through Fëanor and his sons' insane pursuit of the Silmarils. All of their lives had changed due to an oath and the actions taken in carrying it out.

Setting the steaming teapot down on the table and sitting, Bronwë ran her fingers over the handle of one of the thick mugs Círdan preferred over the more fine tea cups. "Elrohir might be able to temper him...once the initial pain is purged."

"That is my hope." Glorfindel met her gaze, nodding. "Elrohir has some measure of his father's healing abilities, and is not as fond of the slaughter Elladan favors for vengeance. I think he will eventually tire of the killing, and hopefully, talk his brother into returning to more sane pursuits."

"They're good boys." Círdan scowled, slicing deep into the wood in his hands. "Yet Elrond's blood was as fiery as theirs when he was younger." He looked up, nodding. "Peredhil blood runs hot."

Glorfindel offered a neutral expression. "I hope you're right, but the twins have always favored the tales of old."

"Then they must know many of those very tales ended sadly."

Smiling suddenly, Glorfindel reached out to squeeze the healer's hand. "Do not worry overly much, Bronwë. Elrond is not unaware of what they do, and keeps watch over them, as do others." He sighed. "Many of us love them as if they were our own."

She squeezed his hand and pulled free. "Enough of this, didn't you say you were famished?"

"I am!" Grinning, Glorfindel leaned forward to sniff the bread. "I only hope Círdan's hand wasn't in the making of this, or I fear we'll have either raw dough or crisped crust."

Shooting him an indignant frown, Círdan set his carving and knife down with a thump. "I'll have you know I am more than a passably good cook!" Looking from one to the other of his companions, he huffed, and shook his head at their pained expressions. "Fine. No, I didn't make it."

"Good!" Glorfindel's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Then I should very much like to have some."

Watching as he eagerly took the tea and bread offered, Bronwë chuckled in amusement as he slathered it in butter and honey, humming in happiness as he ate. "I cannot fault him for enthusiasm, Círdan." Her smile grew as the shipwright grumbled around being eaten out of pantry and home again.

Licking his fingers to catch the last of the honey that dripped off the bread, Glorfindel shrugged. "I'd volunteer to cook for you, but you know what a disaster my own efforts at cooking are as well."

"I think it best to allow Celonriel to reign in this kitchen," Bronwë murmured.

Círdan nodded, reaching for another slice of bread. "Although you're welcome to bring bread any time as well."

Settling back in her chair, watching the two males eat as though there was to be no more bread ever after, the healer smiled into her tea mug.

Glorfindel, on his third slice of bread, sat back to slowly enjoy it. He wanted to ask about the ceremony he'd seen, but decided they'd discussed enough sad topics. "I received word, before leaving Imladris, that Gildor Inglorion would be making his way to the Grey Havens before autumn is upon us."

"Oh?" Círdan snorted, smiling. "Nice to have a bit of warning."

"He collects a group from here every now and then, to travel with him." Bronwë stared into the green depths of her tea. "I hope they bring word from the coast." She had distant family members dwelling not far from Dol Amroth, in what had once been the Elven haven of Edhellond. Mostly Silvan Elves, they were quiet folk, and not given to wandering far from their forests.

"He will." Glorfindel nodded confidently. "Gildor knows more of what goes on than anyone."

"That's why Elrond encourages him to come through every time."

"Yes, and the Exiles are a colorful lot, rather a breath of cool breeze at the end of summer. I've wandered with them before." Wry grin curling his mouth, Glorfindel nodded. "They are far more than they appear to be."

"As are most of our folk." Círdan snorted. "We get the visiting families of Men living in Mithlond, some from Gondor a time or two, and they stare at us as though we're going to disappear before their very eyes."

"We keep more and more to ourselves." Bronwë pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. "What they hear is rumor and myth, and I doubt they believe the old legends are truth." With a pert smile, she gathered her cloak from the empty chair and winked. "I'll leave you two to talk to your heart's content and go replenish my herbs."

Shaking his head as she left them, Círdan stood. "Let's go out in the sunshine. We've had very few of these fine sunny days, and rain is coming, unless my weather sense is wrong."

Glorfindel stood, following the mariner outside. "I doubt that, considering you've had how many Ages to hone them?"

"More than I care to count, lad." Raising his face to the sun, wind ruffling the silver hair of his beard, Círdan smiled, and found a pleasant patch of sun-warmed rock to settle on.

Glorfindel nodded with a grin as he sprawled on a flat stretch of grass, content to soak up the sun, listening to the breeze and the rise and fall of the waves below them.

* * *

"A bear, marking his territory made the claw marks, but look here." Peeling a section of loose bark back, Faelon exposed a black fungus, growing in fan-like patterns and veins.

"What is that?" Bronwë grimaced, leaning closer to peer at the fungus.

"'Tis affecting the growth as well. Look how thin the foliage grows near the crown." Thalion set a hand on the trunk of the tree, above the rot, and looked up. "Did you ever see anything like this in Doriath?"

Shaking her head, the healer met the marchwarden's gaze. "Not that I recall. We roamed the Region Forest, often far from Menegroth, but..." Bronwë had been young when Doriath had fallen, not even five hundred sun 'rounds. "When I was a child we stayed in Ossiriand, with Adar's kin." Gaze distant, she let her mind roam back to the earliest days of memory. "I don't remember seeing any disease like this, even then."

"Nor do I." Faelon sighed. "All the trees along the shoreline are diseased in this way. We noticed they were thinning and came to investigate."

"Only when the bear marked the tree and exposed this did we see the rot." Thalion looked pained. "We should have noticed them sickening sooner."

"There are few of us in this haven." Bronwë squeezed the warden's shoulder. "And those of us here are too young to recall much of the First Age." Too many of their kin had died in kin-slayings or sailed for Aman, leaving the younger elves to carry on as best they could, but they lacked the experience and knowledge their elders had possessed. So many elders had died in the fall of Doriath. Much had been done to preserve the knowledge, by Elrond and others, but no lore, written or spoken, could replace the living, breathing experiences of an ancient elf.

It was times like these they felt the loss of their families the most.

"We should consult with the council." Faelon broke the patch of bark off, peeling a bit of the black fungus with it. "If they do not know either, then we can send this to Lothlórien. Surely Lord Celeborn will know?" He looked young and uncertain, gazing at the fungus in distaste.

Bronwë nodded, offering a slight smile. "We have Silvan kin there far older than ourselves. Lord Elrond might have information on it as well. He keeps a large library of information on such things." She missed having the elders of her own kin, even though Círdan was like family. He was Telerin, and his folk were more interested in the sea. Much as she loved the sea, and respected the Telerin heritage of her mother, Bronwë was truly Silvan at heart. When troubled, she went to the trees, to walk and sit, listening to the wind and the whispers of the pines.

"Come, let us go. We should show Lord Círdan as well." Thalion broke his companion's musings, and Bronwë nodded, walking slightly behind the two wardens, back towards the haven. If the land was sickening, that might explain the diseased animals like the seal and the dead birds, but what was causing such darkness? She shivered, hurrying to catch up with the other elves, suddenly not wanting to be alone.

* * *

The water was cold, chilling him quickly, but Glorfindel had swam in the ocean off the headlands of Taras-ness when he had first come to Middle-earth. After the absolute cold of the Helcaraxë, the waters near Vinyamar had seemed quite temperate. He had often gone to the sea, and had met and befriended a young half-Teler named Elemmakil there.

Wading until the water reached his groin, the blond elf grimaced and stopped, letting his body adjust to the temperature. Waves surged past him, breaking on the shore and he drew in a deep breath, diving forward as a large wave broke towards him.

Laughing as he broke surface, tossing his head back to clear the hair from his face, Glorfindel struck out for deeper waters. When he had lived in Mithlond, after returning from Mandos' Halls, he had swum often. Sometimes he had coaxed the King's Herald to join him, and once...only once, they had challenged one another to swim across the gulf.

It had been a weary, bedraggled pair that returned to the Palace late that night. Tide had shifted once they reached the far shore, and the drag out towards the open sea had been too hard to fight. They had walked around the gulf, back to Mithlond, each grousing at the other about what a brilliant idea it had been, but their friendship had been forged during that long trudge back. Elrond had talked of his parents, his twin, and how it had felt to be so lost during those confusing times. How Maedhros and Maglor had found them, and, though they were captives, had come to care for the boys, and they for them. How it had felt when Elros told him he was choosing to be a Man, forever sundering the twins. How he had cried the first time he had seen his father's star ship sailing in the night sky.

Glorfindel had listened and truly heard the cry of that heart. Surrounded by elves, even distant kin in Gil-galad, Elrond had felt utterly alone. The elda had made a silent vow to the stars that night as they walked; he would never see this elf, whom so much had been granted, and so much depended, ever alone again. It was a vow he had not broken in many long Ages. He had followed Elrond to the Bruinen Valley and helped him build Imladris. Later, he had helped train elves and men alike to fight, and followed Elrond with them to Orodruin. Seven long years had been spent on those barren plains, and there had been times he had hauled a protesting, weary herald and healer to bed, forcing him to lay still until the exhaustion overtook him.

He had watched over the son of Eärendil as faithfully as he had watched over the son of Idril, daughter of Turgon and Elenwë. Had he ever known how far flung the consequences of that vow to his aunt had been...would he still have made it as she lay dying, freezing to death on the grinding ice?

Impossible to say, but he did not regret it, even though it was a lonely life at times. He missed his family back in Valinor, missed the friends of his youth, and those he had made in coming to Middle-earth. His memories stretched back to the days before the sun and moon, though few were still alive who knew truly how old he was. Even in his eyes the ages did not show as they did in Galadriel's gaze. Only in the power he could summon did Glorfindel's true age show, and many attributed that to his returning from the Halls. It set him apart, made some, even elves, uncomfortable. He had paid the price for words spoken many long ages before. He knew, more than most, the power of words and oaths.

Treading water, Glorfindel looked back to shore, smiling at the sight of the swan ships bobbing next to the piers, like the toys the twins had once played with. Something brushed against his arm, tangling with his fingers, and he shook his hand, thinking it was seaweed. A burning sting startled him and he watched as a near transparent shape moved past him.

To his surprise, he saw a second and then a third approach, and he swam backwards, wondering what the jellyfish were doing in such cold waters, especially so early in the year. A sting on his leg forced him to again change direction, and soon he stopped, turning himself in a circle. See-through, gelatinous shapes floated through the water on a tide that was drawing them to him, and he began to swim in earnest for shore. Tendril after tendril curled around his legs and arms and lashed his back and abdomen. Trained to ignore pain at need, he fixed his eyes on the shore and swam relentlessly forward. He focused his mind on Círdan's words that something was not right in the waters, but his thoughts were growing fuzzier and he was unable to focus them on anything but his need to reach land. He thought back to the twins' words about facing Námo again. If he thought he might be embarrassed to admit a single orc had killed him, how would he admit that jellyfish had sent him back to the Halls of Waiting? Then a rush of water filled his mouth and lungs and a red haze enveloped him.

"Glorfindel,...hold still!"

He thrashed, eyes glassy, blinking as his lids began to swell shut. He was burning...burning! Heaviness was spreading through his limbs and he struggled, hearing a rasping noise that he belatedly realized was his own breathing. Had he died again?

"Hold him still!"

He knew that voice. Floating in a fog, he vainly tried to swim upwards, uncertain which way was even up, then felt his hand held and caught in a near painful grip. He sensed an escape opening, a way to leave the painful struggle behind and turned towards what seemed to be a door opening. Another voice beckoned to him, and he hesitated, caught between the pull of two worlds.

"Listen to me, Glorfindel. Hear my voice."

Rather insistent, wasn't it? Trying to blink, to clear the fog from his vision, his other hand was taken and held. He turned blindly, mouth gaping at the solid depth of that grip, the sheer presence. Release. Peace. Healing. The fog cleared and solidified into white shores. The colors were suddenly more brilliant, the plants and trees more verdant. The blue of the water and sky were so deep he felt as if he was falling forward.

Home. If he lifted his gaze, Glorfindel knew what he would see; the mountains of his mother's people and the glory of the Valar. His heart ached with sudden longing to see her again, and to hear his father's laugh. He had seen them for such a short time before leaving last time. Somewhere on the mountain horses neighed and he smiled, easily imagining the white horses his family was so well-known for breeding.

His friends would likely be re-embodied by now as well, and it had been so long since he'd seen them. Egalmoth, Rog, Ecthelion, and their lord, Turgon. Would Elenwë be there as well? And Idril, would she be there with Tuor?

They would want to know how he had died, would want to know what had killed one who had slain a balrog. Jellyfish. Glorfindel groaned. No, he could never bear that, nor the songs the bards would sing this time around.

His view swirled and when it cleared he could see he was viewing Imladris, the sound of the waterfalls as familiar as his heartbeat. Slowly his view narrowed from the valley, to the Homely House, and finally, to a single room.

Elrond. Glorfindel recognized Elrond immediately, though his face was shrouded by a fall of long hair as he leaned over a chair, Celebrían's cloak clutched in his hands. Then Elrond sat back and Glorfindel drew in a sharp breath. Elrond's eyes were glassy, and blank. Lost in his grief, he was too pale, his eyes sunken, the light of life almost gone. Glorfindel strained to reach out to him, to speak and comfort his broken friend.

Glorfindel's hands were caught, but the vision swirled away as if blown by winds and he knew; this might come to pass. No, he could not, would not leave Elrond, no matter how his own heart yearned for his home. Imladris was home now, and would be until Elrond sailed. He had sworn to watch over Elrond, but even more, Glorfindel would not abandon his friend.

"Call him again."

A male voice, that one. He knew it...didn't he?

"Glorfindel..."

This time the pull was undeniable, as if someone of great strength had caught hold of him and was dragging him towards them.

"Hear my voice, come back to us. Come back."

He could have resisted, could have heeded Mandos' call instead, but Glorfindel turned from the comforting song that promised so much. He felt himself falling back into a body burning and painful, lungs aching to breathe against a crushing constriction. Gasping, he arched his back, struggling to pull free of the hands holding him down.

"Pour more vinegar on the stings, and if it runs out, use seawater. Don't use fresh water, whatever you do!"

Warm hands caught his face, holding his head still, and he could barely make out the blurred form of someone with dark hair kneeling above him. Energy surged into him, making him gasp again, but this brought warmth and easing of the pain with it, spreading slowly through his entire body. He felt a tingling in his lips and eyes, ears no longer feeling as though they were on fire, and he tentatively curled his fingers, surprised that the flesh no longer felt hot and so swollen he could not bend them. The ringing in his ears stopped, and he blinked, as his vision slowly cleared.

Bronwë sat back, still frowning in concern as he stared blearily at her. "Glorfindel?" She rested one hand on his forehead, pushing back some of the heavy hair that had fallen forward as he struggled.

"What?"

The healer smiled at the weak but surly tone, relieved. If he was grumpy, then he was feeling better. "Try not to move for just a few more moments, and then we'll get you back to your rooms."

"I'm fine," he snapped, though it was more a weak rasp. It was far from the commanding tone that inspired his guardsmen. Glorfindel began to curl to one side, intending to sit up and show them all that he was just fine, thank you.

Círdan snorted as Glorfindel sat up a few millimeters then slumped back to the ground, scowling fiercely. "Weak as a newborn foal, aren't you? You've been healed enough to know it takes a while to settle, lad."

Eyes as blue as the clear sky above them held the shipwright's gaze, boring into them with fierce intensity. "What happened?"

"What happened is you near scared Rimbecalimo to the Halls, crawling out of the ocean more dead than alive." Círdan's tone was caustic, but he let go the blond elf's hand, setting it on his chest with a tap. "He ran for Bronwë, and I heard the commotion and found you laying face down in the sand."

"Jellyfish." Glorfindel grimaced. "They were all around me!"

"We can move him now. Let's get him up to the house." Bronwë rose to her knees and slowly stood as Círdan and another elf helped Glorfindel to his feet. He was none too steady, but swatted away attempts to help him. Shaking her head at the sight, Bronwë watched Glorfindel stagger in the dry sand, determined to make it up to Círdan's house on the bluff with no aide, probably still not aware or caring that he wore nary a stitch of clothing.

"And you." Círdan arched an eyebrow at her, both watching as Glorfindel's legs gave out even as he grabbed the rock face of the bluff. He sank to the sand and did not move, clearly too drained of energy to move, but too stubborn to accept help. "Are you all right?"

"Just drained." Pale and weary, she sighed. "At this rate he'll never make it. I should have left him unconscious."

"Leave him to me." With a rather feral grin, Círdan stalked over to the blond elf, took his arm and slung it over his own shoulders. "Lean on me, you stubborn creature! You nearly died. Again! I won't have you staggering off the path and falling to death after Bronwë went to all that trouble to save you." He gestured for another elf to take Glorfindel's other arm, and together they lifted the injured elf. "Just concentrate on breathing and be quiet."

To everyone's surprise, Glorfindel did just that.

* * *

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Jellyfish stings are not terribly serious, at least where I live. They do sting, though not on purpose, they're quite brainless, and the treatment is very simple (for the common little jellies we have here - the same can't be said everywhere). I've exaggerated it here due to the fact that poor Glorfindel swam into a entire group of them, and that...can be bad.
> 
> Vinegar has amazing properties, is simple enough to produce, and been around for eons. I'm guessing the Elves and Men certainly had some form, either wine or apple. I was also betting any healer living in a coastal area carried vinegar, and no doubt the fishermen too had it about, as a matter of course.
> 
> Again, thank you to all who have read and reviewed and those who read and simply enjoyed.


	6. There Will Come Soft Rain

* * *

The sound of surf and cries of gulls brought him blinking to awareness, clearing the remnant of dreams from his mind, and for that first blurred moment between dreams and wakefulness, he'd thought he was in Eldamar. Half expecting to hear the voices of his mother and father, Glorfindel turned his head and saw the sun, a giant globe of fiery gold and orange, sinking into the sea, and knew this was not the ocean of his youth. The thought brought him to full awareness.

His skin was crawling with a hundred itching welts, and his hair felt stiff from the saltwater. Grunting, he shifted, scratching his shoulder against the sheets.

"Don't scratch." The chiding voice came from the other side of the bed, and he turned his head, pulling a hand from beneath the covers to rub defiantly at his shoulder.

"You might as well tell a hobbit not to eat." With a grimace, he realized his chest and arms had red wiggles of welts, fading, but still there. From the feel of it, so did the rest of his body.

"We could not bathe you until the poison was out of your body." Bronwë sat forward in the armchair, assessing his condition as he squirmed. "How do you feel?"

"Itchy." He spoke with a touch of surliness, but Glorfindel despised being incapacitated, hated the thought of being a burden. He wasn't even overly fond of healers as a rule, apart from those counted as friends, and only then so long as he wasn't in their care as a patient. Glorfindel was not an easy patient, and many of the healers in Imladris, still learning, refused to do more than assist Elrond in treating him. Fortunately for all, he was rarely in need of their care. He looked up, catching her gaze, knowing his thoughts were probably transparent. "Have you sat here with me the entire time I was sleeping?"

"Yes." She knew it was useless to remind him he'd almost died, had in fact, began to fade when they called him back. It wouldn't matter to him. He was fine now and that was the end of the event as far as he was concerned. Standing to shake out her wrinkled skirts, Bronwë looked out the window. Picking up the book she'd been reading, she arched an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to your bath. Be sure you eat, and drink plenty of water."

She was just going to leave? Glorfindel sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stood, holding the sheet against his body. To get to the door, Bronwë would have to go around him. "Are you all right?"

"Glorfindel, you're the one who was hurt."

There was nothing he could pinpoint, but though she met his gaze, there was a weary expression in the grey eyes. "You're fatigued, Bronwë. Was I so difficult a patient?"

That earned him a small smile, but she nodded. "Indeed, the worst by far."

Her gaze dropped to his chest as he began scratching the red welts on his chest. "How long will these remain?"

"Another day, possibly two." Bronwë was trying to remain detached, to keep the cool appraisal of a healer with a patient, but the winding trail of red welts left on Glorfindel's skin were a visible reminder of how near he had come to dying. "There is ointment on the bedside table for them, both to reduce the itching and to help the welts fade."

He grimaced. "That long?"

It was too much. Bronwë closed the distance between them, and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his chest. "You nearly died, Glorfindel. In fact you were fading and for a moment we did not know if you would come back!" Expression grim, she held his surprised gaze for a moment before letting go of his hand. "Don't. Scratch."

The quiet command concerned him far more than the outburst. "I'm sorry." Glorfindel wasn't even certain why he was apologizing. It wasn't as if he had deliberately swam into the jellyfish, but there was something in Bronwë's gaze that unsettled him. She had been afraid. For him. "Bronwë -"

The deliberate scuff of leather on wood alerted them to someone approaching, and a moment later Círdan entered the room, silver eyebrow climbing higher as he looked from one elf to the other. Slowly nodding, he didn't bother to hide the concerned look. "I came to see if you were still sleeping, Glorfindel."

Bronwë plucked her cloak from the armchair and stepped around the blond elf. "Awake and alert enough to growl at me, Círdan." Touching the shipwright's arm as she passed, she added, "Get him to eat, and see he drinks water. Water, Círdan...not mead."

"Where are you going?"

Turning at the door, expression somber, she avoided making eye contact. "We want to see if there is ought that can be done for the trees before we go."

"Go?" Glorfindel frowned as she walked away, turning his attention to Círdan. "Go where?"

"To Lothlórien, to consult with Celeborn about the trees." Círdan sighed. "I sent a hawk with a message this morning. They only wait upon Celeborn's reply to leave." He eyed the other elf in amusement. "Unless you plan on giving my housekeeper ideas about your intentions, you'd best get dressed."

"A bath first." Glorfindel grimaced, touching the grimy strands of his hair. "I've no intentions of seducing your housekeeper." He offered a wry grin with the last.

Círdan nodded. "Just as well. She wields a wicked broom." Turning, he began humming as he walked, leaving Glorfindel to his much desired bath.

* * *

The stars, shining brightly down upon the thickly wooded forest, were not the focus of attention for the three elves who walked down the shoreline as would be their normal wont. The three Silvan Elves were quiet, listening carefully to all the night had to say, from the quietly soaring owl, to the rocks near the waterline. Reaching the sickened trees, each went to wander amongst the grove, gently touching the afflicted pines. When each elf reached the limit of where the sickness dwindled and healthy trees stood, they turned to face one another. Standing in at three points, they closed their eyes and let themselves be drawn downward. Outward. It would be better accomplished with more than three, and better yet if there were Elders present, but they did what they could.

Silvan Elves had not the great power of the Eldar, for they had never seen the light of the Two Trees. Their forefathers had turned away from the Great Journey, become the Avari, and travelled instead deeper into the woods of Middle-earth. Still, there were secrets only they knew, secrets whispered to them by the trees, the rivers, the mountains. The creatures of their lands, from the Great Eagles to the Grey Wolves, also taught them lessons. All of creation was bound together, and though they had never sat at the feet of the Valar and learned from them, their instincts had sharpened them to hear the great song of Ilúvatar's creation.

They knew the darkness as well, having fled from it time and time again. They had not the power to stand against it the Eldar of Valinor wielded, but they were resourceful and cunning. Time had taught them that a subtle nudge, a silence when there were no words, could be as effective as sheer power.

Three was a small number, and these three were still considered young among their kind, but they offered themselves up, merging the part of them humans called 'magic' to that of Middle-earth. Twining their will with that of the wild energy of nature, a bright blur of green behind their eyelids, the three bound the area as best they could. Bound the darkness, contained it and set their wills to holding it in place. It was only a net and temporary at best, but hopefully they would have an answer and cure long before the net was broken.

Faelon squeezed Bronwë's shoulder as he came up on her, knowing her healer's senses would enhance the empathy they all shared. "Lord Celeborn will surely have an answer."

"Or the Lady Galadriel." Thalion sighed wearily. "There are the eldest of our kind there as well. This cannot be the first time such a thing has risen."

The healer nodded, looking up at the tree she touched, and began to softly sing. A strengthening song, of healing and light her father had taught to her when the top of her head had barely reached his waist. The other two elves joined in, wandering through the grove, touching the trees as they sang, their song not much more than a whisper upon the wind, the caress of the waves. It was not enough, not nearly as much as they desired, but would have to do for the time being.

* * *

Glorfindel shook his head, gazing up at the night sky, tracking the brightest star before finding familiar formations. "There was nothing specific, but darkness...aye."

"As if something were directing the creatures?"

"Maybe." Pursing a lip, he turned his attention back to the shipwright. "It was almost familiar. A touch of some old evil, mayhap..." His eyes unfocused, attention going inward as he searched through memories that stretched back long before the dawn of the sun and moon. "The touch was not malevolent. It was...unfocused. Undirected."

Círdan stroked fingers through his beard, thinking. "If it was truly evil I would have sensed it." He shook his head, annoyed with the mystery plaguing both land and beings. "How would something make its way here without gaining my attention?"

It was a fair question. Círdan was not without resources, including those of the creatures that lived in the depths of the sea. That none of them were answering him, just as the trees had no answer for the Silvan Elves, was unsettling.

"I do not know, old friend." Offering a wry smile, he traced a forefinger in a mindless pattern, drawing in the sand. "What happened whilst you and Bronwë conspired to keep me sleeping?"

Smirking, Círdan sat back. "It was that or listen to you complain about the itching all day." Ignoring Glorfindel's scowl, he stretched long legs out. "We sent word to Celeborn, and requested safe passage for a small group to travel to Caras Galadon." Pursing a lip, he added, "He'll approve, no doubt. We made certain to mention the trees."

"Wood elves," Glorfindel murmured in fond amusement. Imladris was not home to many of the quiet Silvan Elves, but those who did dwell there were well-known to him. "Who goes, then?"

"The two marchwardens who discovered the blight on the trees, and Bronwë."

"Why Bronwë?"

Amused at the question, Círdan paused a long moment. Let the stubborn elf stew a bit, it would be good for him. "They're the oldest of the Silvan in our midst, and the closest to what has happened. If I sent any of my Telerin kin they would only tell of the black rot on trees and dead birds. Celeborn will need to hear what the Silvan Elves know of the trees."

Glorfindel pursed a lip. "I cannot like it, Círdan." His eyes darkened with remembered sorrow. "The passes to Lothlórien grow darker each season, unsafe." He sighed, heart heavy. "Elladan and Elrohir do their best to purge the lands of orcs, and the Rangers toil towards that end as well, but I would not see another elf fall as Celebrían did."

"You think to go as well?"

Nodding, Glorfindel tapped a finger on his thigh. "We could pass through Imladris and see if it is something Elrond is familiar with. If not there are enough of the Imladris guard to journey on with us to Lothlórien." Slanting a gaze at the shipwright, frowning for the amusement dancing in the ancient eyes, Glorfindel snorted. "None of those three have been to the Golden Wood, have they? Or know the way? Well you know travel is not for the unwary these days, and the Lady guards her woods jealously."

Laughing, Círdan held up his hands. "I wasn't going to dissuade you, Glorfindel!" He smirked. "Though I find it interesting that you're here talking to me rather than Bronwë." Getting no response, Círdan sat back and watched the normally decisive elf fidget, almost laughing at the image. "Or am I reading more into that scene today than I should?"

An odd expression overcame Glorfindel's face. "She was upset with me."

"Upset or worried?"

"I told her I was fine and merely complained about the welts."

Shaking his head for the willful obstinate nature of some, Círdan arched an eyebrow. "Do you realize how close we came to burying you, Glorfindel?" His answer was an impatient scowl. "It's true, stubborn creature, and you know it. Bronwë and I both were calling to you and even then it was a near thing."

"I was not ready to die yet," Glorfindel replied quietly. He met the shipwright's gaze. "I had a choice, and realized there was too much here that I had to accomplish."

"Is one of those speaking of your feelings for Bronwë?"

"Are you playing matchmaker, Círdan?"

A snort as the shipwright shook his head. "Lad, I'm only stating the obvious. If you want to pretend otherwise, that is your choice." Standing, Círdan looked at his friend a long moment. "You know better than most life is uncertain, even for we who are seen as immortal by human eyes. An unforeseen event, like Celebrían's attack, can remove us from those we love, and though we have long days on this land, they can stretch out like those seven years in Mordor. You wait, and keep her waiting, though I cannot fathom why when much happiness could be found for both of you."

"I never asked her to wait."

Círdan said nothing, but stared hard at Glorfindel until he frowned and looked away. "You're being stubborn, so I'll leave you to it. Alone." With a nod, he turned and walked down the shore, muttering loudly to himself. "Never thought I'd see the day a balrog-slayer was afraid of an elleth! Eärendil, drop something down on his head and enlighten him...both of them!"

Scowling, Glorfindel stayed where he was for a long while, though he warily watched Eärendil sail overhead. Finally he rose and brushed the sand from his clothing before turning to walk back towards the Havens.

* * *

The scent of roses still lingered in the air, and for a moment he expected her to step out of her rooms and glide towards him, smiling. Foolish Elf, he chided himself. She is gone, beyond the reach of any here. Gone to seek peace and healing only the Blessed Realm could offer.

Elrond walked through the room, pausing to touch the silver-handled hairbrush that still held long strands of her silver hair, glinting in the liquid half-light of the moon. His gaze drifted over the chiffonnier, wood the pale maple she had preferred. It had reminded her of her childhood home, as had the polished convex disk hung above, the silver metal decorated with Mallorn trees around the edges.

He could see her, seated there, as she had been so often, brushing out her glorious hair, smiling at him in the polished silver. Dropping his hand, Elrond turned away to look at the embroidery and dresses still sitting on a lounge where she left them.

Unfinished. So much that she would never again touch. He would not feel her touch - small, soft hands cupping his face - until he sailed to Aman. Closing his eyes against the ache of grief that clenched his heart, Elrond sat and pressed his face into the soft velvet she had been mending. One of her cloaks, accidentally ripped when she tripped and caught it against a railing. She had been so ashamed, so upset at the loss of her grace, the loss of what had once been but second nature to her. So weary of fighting the emptiness and pain in her body and mind.

Yes, he understood why she left, why she had to go. It made it no easier to bear. Nights were by far the worst. Night, when no one came to him with the problems of the day, no humans or dwarves stirred, seeking assistance. When the voices of the elves rose in benediction to the stars and sang of lands they longed to see. No slender form, wreathed in silver hair, to distract him, tease, and entice him away from his worries. Only his books, his people and his determination to continue to hold the ground, the peace they had here.

Only his hope that one day one of Isildur's line, the same line that carried the blood of his long passed twin, would redeem mankind and reclaim the throne. A hope that grew more dim with the passing of each Dúnedain Chieftain. It seemed to him Celebrían's leaving had taken much of the light and warmth from his life, leaving him to face the future armed only with duty and determination.

The grief would pass, Glorfindel had assured him on one of those dark nights when he had raged and ranted against the unfairness that composed so many experiences of his life. He had stood steady, compassionate gaze unwavering when Elrond had rounded on him, eyes blazing with a fury that hadn't been present since Orodruin. Oh, he had wanted to hurt someone in his rage, had lashed out, throwing himself against that immovable rock that was Glorfindel...and been met with compassion.

Who else could understand the depths of loss, of sacrifice, and know that there was, without a doubt, hope to be found on the other side? Glorfindel had let him rage, let him weep. Not once, but many times since then, and never said a word against him. He would not. That was Glorfindel. He had steadfastly stood at his side, letting Elrond grieve while he and Erestor handled the duties of the haven.

Slowly, Elrond was beginning to see he might have been right, that there might be joy again. But, oh...it still hurt, this loss.

"My Silver Queen," he whispered, stroking the soft velvet that still held her scent. Letting his gaze go distant, as if he could see all the way to the Blessed Realm by sheer dint of will.

Standing in the arched entry, Erestor turned away, bowing his head as he walked silently back towards his offices. It would keep, this bit of paperwork. His lord had long delayed this grief, presenting a strong front for his children and those who lived in the haven. Sighing, the councilor raised his eyes to the West and sent a silent prayer winging to the Valar; _he has borne so much...let him find some measure of peace now._

* * *

Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood, pursed a lip as he read the parchment. "It seems we'll be receiving visitors soon."

"Milord?" Haldir, waiting patiently to be dismissed, tilted his head in an expression of mild curiosity. He ignored the impatient clucks and chirrups from the hawk perched next to him, staying far away from the bird's sharp beak.

"Your hawk was from Círdan." A slight smile graced the lord's mouth. He knew Haldir was not overly fond of the hawks sent from other havens, delivering messages. The raptors were testy and always hungry when they arrived, nipping impatiently at whichever elf they found first. "There will be a party arriving from Mithlond within the next several new moons." Nodding, rolling the small parchment back up, Celeborn reached out to caress the white breast of the bird. "See to this one's feeding, will you, whilst I compose a reply."

Not truly a request, nor one he could refuse. Haldir grimaced slightly, but gave a short bow. Curved talons dug into the leather bracer on his arm and he winced, careful not to jostle the hawk as he left to do as his lord requested.

Celeborn smiled in amusement at the captain of the marchwardens as he walked back to the table, sitting to gaze for a moment out at the sunshine drizzling through the golden trees. Círdan's words were brief, but hinted at growing troubles. Taking out a quill and small parchment, Celeborn thought a moment before dipping the quill into the inkwell, and begin to pen his reply.

* * *

TBC Thank you for reading!


	7. The Winds Awaken, the Leaves Whirl 'Round

* * *

No one had been at Bronwë's small cottage, and so Glorfindel had wandered down the to the beach. He walked for a while, and stopped when he came to the small stand of trees that grew almost right up to the waves. Here he saw for himself the sickened pines. Something about the area reminded him of the sickrooms in Imladris used for treating the most ill of patients, most often Rangers. There was the same miasma of an almost perceptible scent, and a sense of misery. Something else was there, at the edges of the forest. Glorfindel reached out with hand and senses to lightly touch the invisible barrier. It was not very strong, but it was the same type of barrier the foresters in Imladris used to monitor the valley. If breached, it alerted them. Glorfindel had likened it to a spider's web for the foresters always claimed the alert felt like a tingling vibration.

Glorfindel let his eyes unfocus, and could see the fine weaving that created the barrier. Three anchors held it, and he went to each anchor, strengthening it with his own will, until the barrier was glowing far brighter than before. Satisfied it would remain strong while those who held the barrier were away from Mithlond, he let the weaving disappear from his vision.

Leaving the sickened area, he turned back and walked for a while before sitting. Gazing westward, his thoughts went to what he had seen while in the twilight of nearly dying. His family and childhood home had not been a surprise. Glorfindel had not spent enough time with them after his re-embodiment before duty had taken him to Middle-earth, so it was no surprise to see his mother and father. Nor had he been surprised to see Elrond. The task to watch over the peredhel through the remaining Ages was his, and even though he shared the duty with Erestor at times, when it came down to it, Glorfindel knew the task had been given to him alone. It dominated his second life.

Until now. Now he had people telling him to think of himself and to look beyond what duty would demand of him.

He had not seen Bronwë in his visions. Did it mean there was no future for him in that direction? She had helped him when he had first returned to Middle-earth. Helped him re-learn the simplest things like speech, manners and caught him up on all that had happened whilst he was in Mandos. They were friends.

Friends. Why then did the word have such a hollow ring? Picking up a piece of wizened drift wood, Glorfindel traced the whorls and holes. The bond between healer and patient had to be a close one if the injured person was to be fully healed. He had trusted her utterly, telling her things in the dark of night when neither could sleep that he had never shared with anyone. Not even Lalwendë.

But Bronwë had been betrothed to another, and so, once released from her care, he had distanced himself from her. Deliberately seeking the company of others to while the time away, and bent his attention to his reason for being returned: Elrond and the Elves of Lindon and Mithlond. He had cleaved to duty, and closed the door of his heart.

Perhaps he had thought it just was not meant to be, that he was one of those with the strange fate of being alone. Certainly his betrothal in Aman to Lalwendë had ended...badly. She had gone against her family's wishes and followed him onto the ice, into exile, facing the Doom of the Noldor with her head held proudly.

It hadn't lasted. The ice killed so much, and not all of what it froze was Eldar. The cold had bled any love she had felt for him, leaving her bitter and angry at being unable to return home. Lalwendë had blamed him with her last breath as she lay dying in the streets of Gondolin. Blamed him for his brother and sister's death, for her death, for all that had come upon them.

Had it been bravery that had set him against that Balrog, or desperation to prove her wrong? Glorfindel sighed and tossed the driftwood into the waves. Námo had asked him that countless times, waiting patiently, endlessly compassionate but utterly implacable on receiving an honest answer.

The answer had broken him, broken his pride, his bravado. Broken him down to the barest, most base being. He had never loved Lalwendë, not as she deserved to be loved, selflessly, entirely. Young, vain and oh so proud, Glorfindel had been content with their betrothal. Lalwendë, beautiful, proud, Lal, had wanted more.

And he hadn't been enough.

Lifting his head, letting the wind off the sea catch his hair and lift it like a silken golden banner, Glorfindel stared west as if his gaze alone could pierce all the way to Aman. He had gone to Lalwendë's parents before leaving Aman again. Gone and apologized to them, begged forgiveness and left...

Free.

A snort. Only to come back to Middle-earth without a scrap of clothing or memory. Oh, the Valar were not without humor. They had sent him back, truly reborn, to a new start.

He had held to his word, his duty.

What of his heart? Glorfindel couldn't lie to his own heart. It had known what...whom it wanted from the start. After Aldamir had died, and Bronwë had chosen to remain in Middle-earth, after enough time had passed, he could have pursued her. He wasn't a fool. Bronwë had no court face, no ability to hide her emotions, and he had seen the slow awakening of her love for him.

And still, he said nothing. Had never let her see that he loved her in return, but had guarded his heart and been a steady, constant friend. Was he waiting for her to speak first? Glorfindel knew she wouldn't. She put duty before all else, and his duty, the duty he had shown her was paramount to him, would always come before herself in Bronwë's mind.

It didn't make him proud to realize. Did he really think she would be as faithless as Lalwendë? Bronwë had abided by his will, offered friendship and what love he would allow.

Why? There were others she could have bound herself to and been happy with.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Because she loves you, you fool." Hadn't he seen how faithful Elrond had been, with eyes for no other but Celebrían from the moment he had seen her in Lindon all those years before? Healers rarely lied, to themselves or others. They dealt to closely to those they tended, and left little room to hide. They never put their concerns first. They were loyal, fiercely loyal to those they loved.

"Idiot." Standing, Glorfindel dusted his leggings and turned his back to the sea. Home wasn't in the West. Not yet. His heart had long ago given itself.

It was time to follow his heart and end his restless wandering.

* * *

In the end, Glorfindel hadn't found Bronwë until the next morning, when she, Faelon and Thalion were saddling their horses, and preparing to leave.

"Just the three of you?" Ignoring the snort from Faelon, Glorfindel walked to the head of Bronwë's horse, took the reins and made himself an immovable object. "No."

The incredulous look became a frown. "I don't believe we need your permission, Glorfindel." Bronwë ignored the way her companions sidled away from her, leaving her to take on Glorfindel. They had few chances to interact with him in the years he had been in Mithlond or during visits, and were very happy to let her lead the verbal assault against a legendary warrior. "We're going to Lothlórien, not Mirkwood. There are no spiders. Just mallyrn. I doubt they'll harm us."

"You will be crossing Eriador and going over Caradhras, through the very pass where Celebrían was waylaid." Glorfindel shook his head, expression set as he met her gaze. Adamant. He would not budge from this. Nothing could bring Elrond's wife back, take away her torment, but by all that was precious, he would not see it happen again. "You are _not_ going alone."

His unyielding attitude gave Bronwë pause, and her scowl became a frown as she sensed the eddy of emotions churning in him. Glorfindel could be annoyingly overprotective at times, but she saw the logic in his argument. "Fine." Relief flashed through his eyes and she sighed. "May we leave now, or must we wait for you to get provisions?"

Faelon huffed at the sudden capitulation and leaned forward to comment, knowing Glorfindel didn't understand Silvan. "Maybe he's only worried about you going to the Golden Woods and never returning, Bronwë. There _will_ be many handsome Silvan Elves there."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow, curious as to what caused the sudden bloom of pink across Bronwë's face as she turned and offered a sweet smile at her friends. "That's good to know, Faelon. Perhaps you'll find one who meets your fancy, hmm?"

"I have another suggestion." Curious at the by-play between the three, the Silvan language was rarely spoken, Glorfindel rubbed the flat of her gelding's face. "Elrond might have knowledge of this problem. He does have a rather extensive library of all kinds of lore." Bronwë met his gaze, and he held up his hands, before passing her the reins to her horse. "I don't seek to stop you, Bronwë. But I have no doubt he would welcome a visit from you."

She had deliberately not gone to Imladris, he knew, not wanting to intrude upon the family's grieving. He knew her well enough to know she would want to see that her old mentor and friend was doing better.

There was more debate between the three Silvan Elves, and much eye-rolling by Faelon before the matter was settled. "Imladris, first then." Bronwë looked away, smiling at the disgusted tone of her friend's voice.

"I'm provisioned already, and I'm sure we can, between all of us, hunt game." Patting Nimbrethil's neck, Glorfindel gathered his reins and swung up in his saddle.

"If you're settled?" Círdan came forward with a twinkle in his eyes. "Bronwë, would you give these to Elrond?" He handed her a packet, wrapped in oilskin.

"Of course." She took it and carefully tucked it into her saddlebag. All three Silvan Elves carried a pack as well as a bow and quiver, tied behind their saddles. Her eyebrow rose as five of the city guard rode up and arranged themselves behind the group.

"Stay with Glorfindel and the guard, you three." Círdan reached out to tuck a stray braid behind Bronwë's ear and nodded. "No argument. I'm sending these guards with you. They can return when you reach Imladris." He grunted as she lunged forward to hug him tightly, and returned the hug briefly before setting her back. "You'll be fine. Up with you, now." As the group mounted their steeds, he offered a gruff smile and raised his hand. "Stars light your path, but keep your eyes open as well."

Thalion nudged his mount forward. "I believe we know the way out of the city. Perhaps even as far as the Shire."

Faelon's roguish grin was twin to his fellow Silvan's. "After that, of course, we'll be utterly lost." He blinked long gold eyelashes at Bronwë. "Perhaps you could stop and ask some of the hobbits the way?"

"Oh, I don't know, Faelon..." Riding near enough to bump his leg with her own, Bronwë batted her eyelashes at him. "You're far prettier, and they always get confused whether we're male or female. Seeing that we're all dressed alike, perhaps you'd best do the asking?"

"I am _not_ prettier."

Thalion snickered silently, only the shaking of his shoulders betraying him as he rode ahead of them.

"That Ranger certainly thought you were." Bronwë smiled at her friend as he scowled. "It must be all that silver-gold hair..." With a wink, she nudged her gelding into a trot to catch up with Thalion.

"That Ranger was pished and seeing double!" Faelon huffed, pulling the hood of his cloak up to cover his hair.

"He was not as pished as the Wandering Group, and none of them tried to woo you to their beds."

"Can't blame him, Faelon." Thalion snickered. "Consider how long those humans are out in the wilds, all by themselves..."

The blond Silvan muttered something that made the other two laugh merrily, and nudged his mount to gallop ahead of them.

Glorfindel shook his head. It was going to be an interesting journey, of that he had no doubts at all.

* * *

Darkness of night held no secrets from sharp elven ears and eyes. Even with a waning moon there was still starlight - more than enough for beings who had awakened beneath starlight alone, and loved it since. A sense of evil, gleaming eyes, snarls and the stench of unwashed bodies warned them almost at the same time their horses caught the scent.

Bronwë automatically calmed her mount as he snorted and backed several steps, but her hands were shaking as the snarls grew louder, and she almost desperately wanted to give in to the horse's instinctive desire to flee the danger.

Orcs. She'd not seen orcs face-to-face since she was a child, and then only from under the cover of her Adar's cloak. He'd taught her to use a bow. She had a bow, across her back. The rational half of her brain was railing at her to react, to pull and string the bow. To use it. The other half was remembering the mutilated bodies of farmers brought in to the Grey Havens, either dying or near death, victims of orc assaults.

Frozen in indecision, she sat like a sack of stones as her horse pranced sideways, tossing his head in agitation.

Kneeing Nimbrethil in front of Bronwë's gelding, Glorfindel caught hold of her arm. "Up a tree, now!" Expecting an argument, he dismounted, pulling her from the horse to turn her towards the nearest tree. Bronwë stared at him, and he reached over her shoulder, yanking the bow from its sheath and placing it in her hands. "Up the tree, Bronwë. Kill them if they come near. Go!"

A gentle push and she nodded before disappearing up the tree, blending into the foliage.

The other two Silvans had also gone to the trees, and had their bows out, both barely visible where they crouched in the branches. Glorfindel gathered the guards with a glance, and swept his sword out, bringing it up in one fluid motion. A grim smile edged his lips as he stalked in the direction of the grunts and pounding of feet. There were no doubts here, no second guesses. Here there was only the familiar weight of the weapon in his hand, the sense of sureness in his movements.

Perhaps the orcs had thought to take easy prey tonight, and feast on elven flesh. To have their fun - to torment and listen to the screams for mercy.

A calmness settled in the blue eyes of the warrior as he lifted his head, gazing towards the enemy with a calm certainty. They would not get past Glorfindel. Tonight, these orcs would die. The same, calm sureness fell over the guard as they stood in a line and waited for the rush of their foes, dual knives and swords glinting silver in the moonlight.

The enemy was a mass of grey forms, surging through the forest with a guttural snarl that broke into a full-throated cry as they spotted the elves. Battered swords raised, they charged forward, confident in easily taking such a small number of their hated foes. The orcs in the front of the charge staggered, falling as green-fletched arrows found exposed throats. More arrows flew from the trees, striking through yellow orc eyes, and the Silvans claimed first blood.

Then the elves fighting on the ground were overrun, standing like rocks in a river of orc bodies who tried to overwhelm them. Trying to cut them down. Steel rang on steel, filling the night with the sounds of battle. The grunts and growls lessening as sharp elven swords flashed almost too fast to follow.

Glorfindel fought in silence, a grimace the only betrayal of how he felt as he twisted and slashed, body moving in a deadly dance where time slowed. Battle trance of steel and sinuous movement, senses sharpened to hear every grunt, feel every shift. Muscles already moving arms to block motion sharp elven eyes had anticipated.

Arrows flew past the elves, striking with unerring precision in necks, eyes, any vulnerable spot the archers found. It became a contest of sorts, seeing if he could get to the orc before an arrow beat him to the target. At times the arrows came so close they stirred his hair with the wind of their passing. The archers took out their fair share of the enemy, leaving the rest to those on the ground.

One last whirl, a slice...and it was over.

Glorfindel looked around, sword tightly gripped in his hand, expecting one of the orcs on the ground to leap up and slice at him. A glance across the clearing showed him four of the Guards were uninjured. Another sat on the ground, cradling his arm, and Glorfindel picked his way through the body-littered ground to reach him. "How badly are you wounded, Valandil?" He knelt next to the elf, gently gripping his shoulder.

Blood soaked the arm of the guard's tunic, seeping slowly from between his fingers as he held the deep gash with his hand. "It's deep, milord," he confessed with a grimace. Struggling to rise, the elf was held in place by the hand at his shoulder. "I won't let it slow us down. Just bandage it and I'll -"

"Sit where you are." Seeing Valandil was embarrassed at having been wounded, Glorfindel looked around. Where was...ah. "Hold the pressure on that wound and don't move." Arching an eyebrow, receiving a nod in response, he rose to his feet.

Leaning against the tree she'd just climbed down, Bronwë wrinkled her nose at the bodies of fallen orcs scattered all across the clearing. Wide grey eyes rose to meet his gaze as Glorfindel approached.

He held her gaze, letting her see he was fine, though black orc blood splattered his arms and torso, running down his sword to drip on the ground. Vanyar blue eyes glittered with the fire of battle still, and she sighed at seeing it.

Glorfindel was a warrior, at his best when allowed to use instincts and natural skills in protecting. She understood. Healers fought as well - entirely different battles, but just as fiercely.

"Valandil took a sword wound." Stepping aside, pausing to wipe his sword on a fallen orc's tunic, Glorfindel sheathed the sword.

"Where...ah." Already moving as she spotted the elf on the ground, Bronwë took two steps and turned back. "Can you get the bundle in my saddle pack? One is clothing, the other is herbs and such." She pushed the bow over her shoulder at his nod, and hurried over to kneel next to Valandil.

Ignoring the puddles of black blood and the sightless, staring bodies of the orcs all around.

Glorfindel spotted Nimbrethil and whistled to the stallion. Though the chestnut could be an entirely difficult nuisance at times, he was one of the best battle-trained horses the elf had ridden in many years. The stallion had good instincts that had saved both of them more than once. Snorting, the stallion trotted towards the golden haired elf, the three Silvan mounts following.

Seeing black splatters of orcish matter on the stallion's hooves and forelegs, Glorfindel chuckled as the horse shoved his face into his elf's chest. Rubbing the blaze on the horse's forehead, he held out a hand to Bronwë's gelding. The horse came to him, grateful for the reassuring pats and words as the elf pulled the saddlebag from his withers. "We won't stay long, and then you'll all get a nice rubdown." One last pat for the horses and Glorfindel walked back over to find Bronwë frowning at the tough material of Valandil's tunic which was refusing to be ripped.

"Saddle bag." He shrugged at her look as she took it from him. Digging into a female's saddlebag was not something he routinely did - he'd seen some of the fripperies Arwen packed and had no intentions of rummaging through Bronwë's.

Not that he wasn't curious. A field of dead orcs, the watchful attention of his guard on them, was hardly the time or place for indulging in such things, however.

"Who weaves this cloth? Your metal smiths?" Pursing a lip, Bronwë caught sight of the dagger sheathed in Glorfindel's boot and pulled it smoothly, flashing a triumphant smile at him as he arched his eyebrow. Cutting the cloth of the tunic away she absently passed the dagger back to its owner, attention already on the exposed wound. "Let's just see how deep this is."

Valandil winced as she gently probed the wound.

"Feeling weak? Dizzy?" Bronwë dug through the pack, pulling out several pouches and a roll of cloth she set on the edge of the pack, careful not to let it get dirty.

"No." He hissed as she sprinkled something from one of the pouches over the open wound.

"This is temporary, mind you. That should help stop the bleeding for now." Picking up the roll of clean cloth, she used it to bind the wound. "I know it is tight, but until I can do a true healing I'm afraid you'll have to endure it." She pulled a wider band of cloth and used it to fashion a temporary sling. "Try not to move it too much yet." She gathered the pouches, carefully storing them in the saddlebag, and rose to her feet.

Glorfindel helped Valandil stand. "Let's move out of here." The other guards had rounded up the horses, as the Silvans salvaged all of their arrows they could. "There's a stream not far ahead. We'll camp there, and post watch."

None of them argued. The dead orcs were stinking already and the stench of blood was almost overwhelming. The horses were not the only ones happy to leave the clearing, and the battle, behind them.

They rode until they reached a low rise of black rocks, formed in a half-circle. Here they camped, unsaddling the horses, and wiping them down, before turning them loose to graze. The elven-bred horses would act as sentries as well, and were intelligent enough to remain near their riders.

Glorfindel argued against a fire, but had finally relented, agreeing to a small, concealed fire as Bronwë insisted. She had doused it as soon as water was heated, then set about making a paste that she spread on Valandil's wound. Rebinding the arm, she had remained at his side until he slipped into sleep, monitoring his condition.

"Was it poisoned?"

"I think not." Grimacing at the black blood on her leggings, she plucked at the material which continued to stick to her legs. "We'll need to watch to be certain."

Two guards stood watch and he had seen Faelon and Thalion with the horses. Another slept near Valandil, vacantly staring up at the night sky, already in elven dreams. Noting the last two guards returning from upstream, hair wet, Glorfindel offered a wry smile. "I cannot let you go alone, but I've no doubt you wish to bathe?"

The look he received was so heart-felt, he chuckled and gestured for her to proceed him. "I promise to turn my back and not peek."

"So gallant." Bronwë grabbed her saddlebag as they passed it, and after a short walk, was soon wading into the icy cold of the snow-fed water. Such things didn't truly trouble elves, but she hurriedly washed hair, clothing and self, before wringing out her hair and dressing in clean, dry clothing.

Taking up the stump Glorfindel vacated with a grin, she worked on combing out her hair, keeping her back to the stream as he had. A quiet gasp and a muttered comment on the temperature of the water caused a chuckle. "Cold, isn't it?"

"You have a vast talent for understatement," Glorfindel answered in a droll tone. Ducking under to wet and wash his hair, he remained in the water only long enough to cleanse the stench of orc blood from himself before dressing quickly.

Using long years of elven stealthiness, he crept up behind the elf contentedly combing her hair and set icy fingers on the back of her neck.

Bronwë yelped, jumping up to turn, and scowled as he chuckled. A reluctant smile curved her lips as she brought a finger up to poke him in the chest. "Remember that you started this."

Catching her hand, Glorfindel's grin widened. "I'll remember. Just as I'll recall I'm the one who insisted upon going with you and bringing the guards."

"You just dearly love to glory in it when you're right, don't you?" Her tone was light as she turned away. "You were right though." Bronwë looked down, letting the waist-length fall of brown hair hide her expression. "It would have been Faelon and Thalion fighting alone against those orcs..." A snort of self-derision, and she shook her head. "I...I wasn't much help."

It was a hard admission to make. Bronwë had lived alone, though sheltered in a haven, for many years, and had a streak of independence that made it hard to admit to needing anything at times. She was used to helping others as a healer, not asking for help.

What would have happened, had he not insisted upon accompanying them, was painfully clear. Why then, was it so hard to admit his presence was comforting? The protectiveness, though it annoyed her endlessly at times, was reassuring.

"Hmm..." He stepped closer, pursing a lip at seeing her so pensive. There had been fewer arrows in the quiver when she came down the tree than he remembered. She must have managed to get at least a few shots off. Still, killing was not something he was inclined to see her grow familiar with. No healer was ever truly comfortable with killing. Defense, though...that was another matter altogether. "And who felt the need to remind me that some wolves are just wolves and could be convinced to look elsewhere for prey?"

"Faelon."

Glorfindel snorted. "'Twas not Faelon who fouled my shot."

"No." Bronwë smiled, squeezing his hand, and held up the comb. "Here. Your hair is dripping." Even grey gaze calling his mind back to their conversation in Círdan's rooms after he'd almost died.

Which he acknowledged, meeting her gaze steadily before releasing her hand to take the comb. They began walking back to the camp and he looked towards the silver-topped shadow of the Misty Mountains, distant in the inky blackness of the night sky. Now or never. "Bronwë, wait."

She stopped and turned with a questioning look.

"I'm sorry for being such a lout the other day." Water dripped down his back and neck, recalling the sea water and how quickly a lovely swim had turned deadly. "I was an idiot about the whole thing."

Bronwë sighed. "Most people who almost die aren't at their most cheerful while healing."

"I never am."

"No." A hint of a smile curved her lips. "You're a rotten patient."

He nodded, and turned the comb in his hands. Simple wood, not silver. Nothing fancy.

"Glorfindel." He looked up as she stepped closer and touched his arm. "Are you all right?"

Meeting the grey gaze, he held it longer than normal, trying to find the words for what he wanted to say. A wry smile quirked his mouth. This wasn't really the time or place. "You did well against those orcs today."

"I froze." Turning away with a grimace, Bronwë began walking again. "I've lived in a safe city for too long."

Falling in next to her, Glorfindel snorted. "I know something of that."

"Four hundred years?"

"Give or take a few." Gondolin had been a beautiful prison.

"Yet you came out to fight in the Nirnaeth."

"And that turned out so well." He grimaced and pushed away memories. "You travelled through Beleriand safely before it sank."

"I don't remember all of that." She'd been hurt in the sack of Avernion and lost a stretch of time that only picked up again in Lindon.

Both of them had a past, had things that haunted them at times, kept them awake. It was part of what he loved about her - she didn't expect a flawless hero. Probably wouldn't want him if he was. "You aren't forgetting much from what I've heard."

That drew a choked laugh. He wouldn't know, having spent those years in the Halls of Mandos. "Some of it is best forgotten." A few silent steps and she stopped again. "We need to find more than just the answer to the mold that is attacking the trees. If Círdan doesn't know what ails the sea and animals, then..."

"Elrond might have some answers, but if not, we will continue to Lothlórien." There were Silvan Elves there, he knew, older than probably Celeborn or Galadriel. Avari, who had wandered the dark, lonely stretches of Middle-earth after leaving Cuiviénen, long before the rising of the sun and moon and knew many secrets.

Or so it was said. Glorfindel snorted and smiled as Bronwë arched an eyebrow. "I was just thinking that it's probable my cousin has tried to pry all the secrets out of the Silvan elders."

A grin quirked her mouth and she pondered that. "You do realize most Silvan Elves can be a bit...distrustful of outsiders?"

"I've seen first-hand how quickly Thranduil's marchwardens draw a bow first and ask questions second." He softened the bite of his words with a smile. "Yet in Lothlórien they allow Galadriel not only to live among them but trust her to protect them."

Bronwë shot a sideways look before turning to face him. "She is your cousin, but I cannot forget what you called her when you first returned to Middle-earth."

"Kin-slayer." Said softly, Glorfindel sighed. "My mind was not yet my own, and my memories were a jumble."

"I have never been entirely comfortable around her." Bronwë had few dealings with Galadriel while she and Celeborn had lived in Lindon, but they were memorable.

"And yet Haldir of Lorien would lay down his life for his Lady of Light."

Now she turned to face him. "Called so for her great wisdom and beauty, is that not so?"

"She is not entirely without machinations." Glorfindel snorted, mouth relaxing into a smile as he threaded Bronwë's arm through his as they walked. "But she has done much to redeem herself from the darker days of our past."

"That is all we can ask of anyone." Quietly spoken, the tone a bit somber.

Glorfindel set a hand over hers and squeezed, reminded of all she had forgiven. Telerin kin lost at Alqualondë, family lost in Doriath's second kin-slayings, but he'd yet to hear Bronwë speak ill of the Noldor. Certainly she'd had a thing or two to say against individual Noldor, but never the entire kindred.

The past, she had often reminded him, was behind them, never to be recaptured. To carry it into the future was to burden oneself unnecessarily...and ended only in hurt.

And they said the Nandor had lesser wisdom. Wisdom from sitting at the feet of the Valar, certainly they had not that, but they had gained knowledge by surviving. Adapting. Listening to Iluvátar's creation, and learning its song.

Glorfindel found it was a wonderful counterpoint to the long-accepted wisdom of his own Vanyar kin, rather in keeping with his own, often whimsical views.

It was good to shake up the complacent once in a while, just to be certain they were still listening.

* * *

_TBC Thank you for reading!_


	8. With One Star Awake

* * *

A cold storm swept in from the northern wastes, and while weather bothered elves but little, the frozen rain made the horses miserable and the roads a mess. They stopped only to rest the horses and let them graze, though each carried a measure of oats as well and fed this to their mount. Gathered in a hollow near Amon Sûl, the elves rested their horses and watched snow drift silently to the ground.

"This is going to make it harder if it sticks." Faelon set his horses' hoof down and bent to pick up the next, checking for rocks as it grazed. "Though I would hate to leave them behind."

Thalion narrowed his eyes as he looked upwards, into the dark clouds hanging over them. "I believe it will hold off, at least for a few days." He turned to Glorfindel. "How far are we from Imladris?"

"If the weather holds, four days of hard riding." Straightening from checking his horses' hooves, he met the marchwarden's gaze. "We will not have to worry once we reach the valley. It is protected."

"Snow would be welcome," Bronwë sighed. "The trail along the valley wall is treacherous when it rains hard."

"Is this library truly as wondrous as it has been made to seem?"

"Elrond is a lore master." Bronwë rubbed her horses' neck as it nudged her before it went back to grazing. "He has collected information on all things, stretching back to the First Age."

Faelon offered a dubious look. "But molds?"

"He's a healer, Faelon." Bronwë arched an eyebrow. "You've seen what I use in some treatments. A knowledge of plants is necessary."

"But even we don't know of this disease." He gestured towards Thalion, who carried the piece of diseased wood in his saddlebag. "We cannot linger long if he has no knowledge of it, but must make for Lothlórien."

Raising her hands, palm outwards, Bronwë nodded. "I have no argument with urgency, Faelon. They won't try to stop us."

"We know you have friends there, Bronwë." Thalion sealed his water skin and looked up, glancing at Glorfindel.

"I don't want us to lose the focus of why we are going there first," Faelon added, switching to Silvan. He knew Glorfindel had no knowledge of the language from the earlier days of their travel. It would have surprised him had it been otherwise; very few spoke Silvan any longer.

Bronwë frowned, annoyed at what she perceived as rude behavior. It was one thing to sing a song in Silvan or to speak quietly amongst themselves when no others were around, but to deliberately shut out a member of the party from the conversation by using a language he didn't understand was rude. "I will not lose focus, Faelon." She deliberately answered in Sindarin, and held his gaze.

He nodded and looked away, a flush making his cheeks rosy.

"Though it would be understandable if you did," Thalion teased, seeking to ease the sudden tension. He grinned as Bronwë slanted her gaze at him. "After all, the last time we three travelled together, it was Faelon who found it hard to focus, though for a different reason."

Eyes widening, Faelon turned to glare at Thalion. "I was not unfocused, I was trying to avoid that drunken man!"

"Who thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen," Thalion agreed, grin widening.

"He was pished!"

"You are the prettiest of we three," Bronwë offered, failing to hide her grin.

"I believe it was the hair," Thalion said, and pursed his lips as he cast his memory back. "The man seemed most taken with -"

"Your hair is the nearly color," Faelon fumed, fighting not to turn red as Glorfindel watched with great interest and amusement.

"No..." Thalion plucked up a braid from his tunic and examined it. "My hair has more brown than yours."

"Faelon, he would be long dead by now." Bronwë reached out to squeeze his arm. "Besides, he lived in Dol Amroth and we are far from that land."

"He was drunk," Faelon asserted again. "He would have had to be to think I was a girl!"

Looking up from checking his arrows, Glorfindel shrugged. "It has been my observation that some men have a hard time differentiating between the male and female of our race. To them we are slender, our hair is long and braided, and our clothing is typically far more elaborate than what they wear. Those things often equate to female in their minds."

Bronwë patted his shoulder. "And you are pretty, Faelon." She laughed, and ducked his swat, dancing back. "Though I think Glorfindel might be just as pretty."

"Ooooh no." He used an arrow to gesture at her. "Don't you start on me."

"Your hair is the right shade," Thalion agreed with a grin. "Men seem to be attracted to the fairer of our race."

"I will disagree with one name: Lúthien Tinúviel."

"Idril Celebríndal," Bronwë shot back with a pert grin. "Hair the same color as yours if I'm not mistaken?"

With a mock put-upon sigh, Glorfindel shook his head. "Ecthelion was the fairest of the those in Gondolin."

"Was he blond?" Faelon shot a glare at his Silvan companions and moved to sit on the log at the opposite end of where Glorfindel was seated.

"No." Smiling, Glorfindel put the arrows back in their quiver. "His hair was ebony."

"But he was male, so..." Thalion leaned against Bronwë and the two laughed until tears ran down their faces.

Faelon frowned at the pair before looking at Glorfindel. "Why is that funny?" But his only answer was a shrug and good-natured grin.

* * *

It had been years, possibly decades, since a whale had washed ashore. This one was dead, though there were no marks on it, and it didn't appear to be old to Círdan. Wading into the waves, his hand trailing along the huge body, he walked around the whale, searching for a sign of what had killed it, but found nothing. Shaking his head, he squatted at the head of the giant black and white beast, and caressed its head. "There's not much in the deeps you fear, my friend, so I know not what brought you to this end." The lifeless eyes were clear, and the tongue, hanging down from the creature's gaping mouth, showed no sign of illness.

"Do you wish us to leave it or have it pulled back out to the ocean, Lord Círdan?"

One last caress of the great head, and Círdan straightened. He looked out across the bay and saw, in the deeper waters, black fins amongst the waves. "Her family is out there, Galdor, waiting for her." Pushing silver hair out of his eyes, he turned to nod to the other elf. "Go get some others, and let us return her to the depths."

Galdor put a hand to his heart, and bowed, before heading back towards the haven to find others to aid in the effort.

Círdan stood in the waves next to the dead whale, staring into the deeps. What was causing animals to daily wash ashore, dead? It was not the occasional seal or bird, that was normal for the cycle of life. Something was very wrong, and he could get no sense of it at all. Even the loss of the ships, though rare, did happen, though normally in storms. The currents in the mouth of the bay could be treacherous, especially with high tides but even the human fishermen knew every shoal and shallow. Ossë and Uinen had not answered his call, though in the past they had left the Elves to their own, so it might not be anything in which the Maiar could interfere.

Wind and waves, the ocean could be a harsh lover, and yet Círdan never tired of her voice. There was nowhere else he could imagine living than at her side. For all of her cycles, some violent and dangerous, he would not wish to live without the caress of her waves. Dropping his hands to let the waves wash over them, Círdan sang a song of farewell for the dead whale and waited for the others to arrive.

* * *

"I don't see a valley." Thalion slipped from his horses' back to more closely examine the ground. "Nor any path."

They had not believed him and so Glorfindel had set out to prove to the stubborn Silvan Elves that Imladris was indeed called a hidden valley for a good reason. "I see it quite clearly." He did not mention that even Mithrandir sometimes had trouble finding the hidden paths that led to Imladris.

Bronwë shook her head at their antics, and steeled herself to patience.

"You are serious."

"Quite." Glorfindel serenely watched as Faelon and Thalion looked around the entire clearing, searching for the way. "Gondolin had a hidden way as well, and only those of us who knew where it was could find it."

Faelon frowned, then looked to the Elda. "Even so your people would walk right past ours in Ossiriland."

"True." Glorfindel nudged his horse to the right. "Your folk were ever better at woodcraft than mine, but come, we waste time and daylight. The trail is easier on horse and rider if navigated during daylight."

Faelon and Thalion watched carefully as Glorfindel rode forward then seemed to blend into a large outcropping of rock. "Between the tree and rock?"

"No." Swinging up on his horse, Thalion examined the area. "I see nothing out of the ordinary. Horse tracks lead..."

"Shall we?" Bronwë crowded her gelding against Faelon's, deliberately herding him forward. "Let's not lose our focus."

A sigh and Faelon turned his mount towards what looked like very solid granite. "I don't think -"

"Come!" Glorfindel's voice came to them from just ahead, sounding impatient.

Eyes wide, the marchwardens coaxed their mounts ahead, and stared in amazement as they crossed an unseen boundary. Before them was a deep valley, forested in a blanket of green, and the distant sound of waterfalls sang to their ears. Far below they could make out buildings and Elves moving about. The five guards followed close behind and paused to take in the beautiful view.

"The hidden valley of Imladris," Glorfindel said with a smile, and gestured for them to follow. "Stay a horse-length apart. The trail is narrow and rocky, though the rains have made it both muddy and slick." He shrugged. "We've yet to actually lose anyone on the trail."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Faelon muttered, and waited a beat before urging his horse to follow.

Bronwë nodded for Thalion to go before her, and then followed after a moment, letting her horse pick the best path. The guards followed her, though slowly, and after a long, tense ride down, it was a relief to finally reach the valley floor.

They crossed over a narrow bridge, arching over a rushing torrent of white water and rocks, to finally arrive before a house just as the sun crept past the valley wall. Waving to the figure ahead, waiting for them on the steps, Glorfindel offered a small bow. "Welcome to Imladris."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Makalaure and SevenMagpiesStories, I will reply (RL is crazed at the moment) but please know I appreciate your comments and love that you're enjoying the story! :)


	9. Far Out Under a Windless Sky

* * *

"Erestor, have you seen-" Bronwë stopped, and quickly offered a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." If she'd been paying attention, she would have heard voices conversing and not barged into the room.

The boy had looked up at her entry and now he smiled, grey eyes full of curiosity. "I'll keep working on this if you need to speak with the lady, Master Erestor."

He spoke Sindarin, but there was a hint of accent to it, the vowels broader than those an elf would use. Sea grey eyes, black hair and a gangly frame promised height and breadth of shoulders that few elves possessed. Hardly anyone outside the haven knew of the sheltered Dúnedain heirs, but Bronwë had been in on the secret for many generations. She smiled and turned her attention to Erestor who nodded.

"I want to see that conjugation perfect, Aravorn. No more short-cuts."

With a nose wrinkle, the youth nodded. "Yes, sir."

Following Erestor out of the room, and far enough to be out of range of the sharp ears of youth, Bronwë arched an eyebrow. "Don't tell me. Adûnaic."

"None of them like it at first, but it is their heritage." With a glance back to be certain the curious boy wasn't following, Erestor focused on his visitor. "Were you looking for me or for your two companions?"

"Neither actually." She had been a visitor to Imladris enough to know her way around, and had stayed as midwife when Celebrían had been carrying the children. And yet there were always new things to discover about Imladris. It was one of the things she loved best about the haven. "I was hoping you could tell me where the drying sheds were moved to? Last time I was here they were on the far side of the gardens, but those have been converted to conservatories."

Erestor smiled, dark eyes warming. "Ah, yes. Elrond requested they be moved farther from the falls. The moisture was making drying herbs quite difficult." He took her arm and guided her along a passage that led towards the back of the house. Past the weaving room where laughing ladies worked, through the kitchen where they were stopped by Radhruin, who had yet to say hello to Bronwë, and finally outside. The cook's garden was right outside the door, a large series of raised beds where vegetables and herbs for cooking were grown. "You know where the kiln is and the woodworking area. Just beyond that, up the path, where it is sunniest, you'll find the new drying sheds." When she didn't move, Erestor put a hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything else?"

Bronwë bit her lip, hesitant to ask but finally she nodded. "Has Elrond been out there at all? I know there are other healers to see to those things, but he was always so particular about his own methods..."

Methods Erestor knew she was well-versed in, having been trained by Elrond. A sigh and he shook his head. "He spent many hours there when the lady was ill, but I haven't seen him return since."

Since Celebrían sailed. That was all she needed to know. "I'll see to it then." She took a step and turned back. "They're not driving you to distraction, are they? Faelon and Thalion. I know they were going to search the library and I did bid them to seek you first but..." The Library was Erestor's, regardless that Elrond was the lore master. If one wanted to know if a tome existed in Imladris, it was Erestor they asked. His memory for such things was incredible, and he was generous to those who were respectful of his beloved scrolls and books.

The smile he offered was impish. "You must have put the fear of the Valar into them, Bronwë. They very nearly agreed to wear gloves to handle the books, though..." He laughed. "I was not serious and showed them to the correct section to search." Erestor shook his head. "I have no memory of what they're looking for, however."

Which meant it likely was not in Imladris. Bronwë nodded, and squeezed his arm. "Thank you, Erestor. If we find anything, I promise we'll bring a copy here to you."

That lit his entire expression up, and with a bow, he turned, leaving her to her task.

A short hike up the path just as Erestor had said and Bronwë found the drying sheds where the herbs and plants healers used were hung. The sheds were all the same, but the one closest to the grove of ancient pines had a spider web across the door. Making sure the web spinner wasn't in residence, Bronwë opened the door, and sighed.

It was dusty, the detritus of plants scattered across a long table. Clearly untouched for quite some time. There was a broom in a corner, and after braiding back her hair, Bronwë set to work. She threw out the plants that were improperly dried, and tucked the ones that were good into containers clearly labeled. Dust filled the air, and she opened the windows to let the shed air out as she continued to clean the dead insects from the room. The shelves were cleared of dust, and wiped down, bottles set in order and also wiped to shining spotlessness. When she was done hours later, it looked much like it had when she had worked with Elrond on her last visit. But some of the bottles were empty, mostly the ones used to ease pain and heal muscle aches, and so Bronwë scooped up a basket and went to the healer's gardens to gather what was needed. Mentally categorizing what needed to be done, she didn't notice the figure standing near the trees when she returned and when it moved forward, she almost dropped the basket in surprise. "Elrond!"

Grave expression, somber eyes, Elrond inclined his head and gazed at the room. "You've been busy."

"I hope you don't mind." Anxious that her deed would be taken wrong, Bronwë twisted the basket handle in her hands. "I know how you like things just so, and had been busy with other ..." When he continued to just look at her, she looked down. "I'm sorry. I should have asked first before just -"

"Bronwë."

She looked up, apology on her lips, but Elrond surprised her by stepping forward to gather her into a hug. For a moment she was so surprised she stood motionless before regaining her wits enough to embrace him tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his shoulder. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long."

Elrond stepped back, hands on her shoulders and gave her a long look. "My dear friend, thank you for giving me time." He brushed a hand across her cheek and smiled at the dirt now on his fingers. "I was going to say thank you for saving me what had to be a very dusty, tiring afternoon."

"I don't mind." She didn't. In Mithlond she had a drying shed, a much smaller shed, that was almost exactly like the one they were standing before. But that one she tended alone, and often missed the close camaraderie the healers in Imladris shared. Mithlond was where most elves went to sail West and few lingered. Even fewer had need of a healer, and so most of her patients were human, the men and women and children who made the city outside the haven their home.

"I know." The smile reached his eyes which relieved her enough to return a smile.

"I was going to sort these if you'd care to assist, my esteemed mentor?"

Elrond's smile widened a bit, and he gestured for her to enter before him. "If you think I can properly aid you."

They sat on opposite sides of the table and began to sort the herbs and plants she'd picked in quiet communion. This was a familiar task, one they had shared since the early days of Lindon and Mithlond. First as student and mentor and then as friends. Bronwë knew Elrond had no peer in the realm of healing, and that he called upon her from time to time to aid him meant a great deal to her.

"Glorfindel tells me you go to Lothlórien soon."

She looked up, hands automatically continuing to tie the twine that would suspend the herbs from the ceiling. "We found no record of the mold growing on the trees in Mithlond, nor even anything close." Bronwë shook her head. "Black mold, not white or yellow. I've never seen its like."

Trees were not his specialty but Elrond considered the problem for a moment. "You asked our arborists?" At her nod, he shook his head. "Then I would say you are wise to consult with Celeborn and the Avarin Elves."

"Did Glorfindel tell you all? About the lost ships and dead animals?"

"Oh, yes." A mild smile curled Elrond's lips. "I was treated to a detailed retelling of his encounter with the jellyfish, though..." He arched an eyebrow. "I suspect he toned down the seriousness of the injury, knowing Glorfindel."

"He nearly died."

That stilled Elrond's hands, and he took in the quiet tone and stiff posture of his friend and fellow healer. "Bronwë." Tone kind, Elrond tread gently, well aware of the seemingly unrequited affection she had for their mutual friend. "Glorfindel is Glorfindel. He despises being anything but healthy and hale. The healers here won't touch him, you know. It's just as well that he rarely needs anything from us."

Bronwë nodded. "I know, but Elrond." Meeting his gaze, she couldn't have helped the pain that showed so clearly if she had wanted. Elrond would have seen it, regardless. "I..."

"I know." Elrond reached across the table to take her hand and squeezed it. "I do know, Bronwë."

His admission and the pain raw in his voice was like thorns to her senses and she laid her hand atop his. "I should have come here sooner. I am sorry."

Eyes closing, Elrond gently removed his hand and leaned back. "For what? Not doing what I was unable to do as well?" Shaking his head, he picked up a sprig of lavender and brought it to his nose. "I am learning to console myself with this." Elrond met her gaze. "Celebrían is not dead, not consigned to the Halls, but is in the Blessed Realm where the greatest healers in all of Aman tend to her. Glorfindel assures me she will find healing if she is willing and I know it was her greatest wish." He sighed and stood. "And it does help, but I cannot help but long for her presence here, with me." Eyes that were the shade of snow clouds met Bronwë's eyes, several shades a lighter grey. "I will tell you what I told Glorfindel, Bronwë. Don't deny your heart's desire or allow any perceptions of duty to hold you back from finding love. It is utter foolishness and years wasted to fear or hold back. Does it hurt at times?" He spread his hands and Bronwë saw the pain clearly in his face. "Yes, but I would not give up one single moment I spent with Celebrían, even in the last days she was here, to avoid this pain. Loving her is worth every sleepless night and long day no matter how much it hurts. The hope that one day we will be together again eases that aching sadness more every day." He leaned forward, setting his hands flat on the table. "To love means to risk all, and I promise you it is well worth every last bit of sorrow and pain to experience the joy and contentment of love." Elrond straightened and nodded. "This world grows dark, Bronwë. It could use all the love we all hold back in fear or uncertainty."

Tears standing on her cheeks, Bronwë sat stunned, and watched him leave. His back was straight, shoulders strong, far from bent and broken. Elrond might have taken a huge blow in the loss of Celebrían, but he was not defeated. Not hopeless.

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she drew in a shaking breath and finished sorting the herbs before tying them to hang. Then she closed the door and headed for the river.

* * *

Glorfindel found Bronwë leaning over the railing of a bridge, staring down into the churning river below. The day had turned cold and grey, and the Bruinen was a pale shade of slate that signaled it was snowing higher up in the mountains. He walked over and leaned against the railing next to her. "Are you all right?"

She was pale, and the grey eyes that turned to meet his gaze were unfocused as if her thoughts had been on far distant things, unseen by eyes. "I spoke with Elrond."

Ah. "And?"

Silent a long moment, she blinked and looked away, back to the water. "I still have so much to learn."

The comment was not what Glorfindel had expected and he studied her for a long moment before reaching out to put his hand on hers. It was ice cold and he took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. "How long have you been standing here?"

"I don't know." Eyes still on the water, Bronwë shook her head. "Hours?"

Biting back a rebuke, Glorfindel pulled her under his arm, tucking her against his side, and lead her off the bridge, away from the icy spray of the falls blowing down the river. That she didn't resist told him a great deal, and leading her to the conservatory, he opened the door. A puff of warm air brushed across their faces, followed by the rich scent of earth and green, growing things. "In you go." Door closed, he guided them to a bench deeper in the building and gently pushed her into sitting. Tossing off his own cloak, it was warm in the conservatory, Glorfindel sat and took her hands in his, warming them. "Don't tell me you were listening to the water's song all that time?" He'd seen her stare at the waves for hours, entranced by the light on the water, and the song of the ocean. It wasn't sea longing, he'd seen that before, but it was an entrancement that seemed to mostly affect those with Telerin blood.

"No." Gaze finally focusing on him, Bronwë read the concern in his gaze and looked down to his hands. There were minute white lines on the backs of his hands, scars that faded more every sun-round. Scars gained from fighting and sometimes from when he worked at the forges. Strong hands, callused from ages of sword work, the tendons and muscles clearly defined. In the summer the skin would lightly tan from hours spent outside, something unique to the Vanyar, or so he had told her when she had remarked on it years before.

"Bron? Are you all right?"

Words deserted her, and her mind circled again and again on what Elrond had said. But still she didn't speak. A nod and she offered a smile, looking up to meet his gaze again. "Just thinking."

"Hmm." Glorfindel chaffed her hands until warmth returned. "Anything you care to share?"

How many times had her heart said the words that only she could hear? How could he not see in her eyes what others read so easily? Bronwë let her gaze drop and shook her head. No. Elrond was probably right but she was not that brave. To be spurned and possibly lose a friend who was precious to her? No, she couldn't do that. Not yet. "We cleaned out the drying shed and talked a little bit."

Glorfindel waited, but after a long pause where she didn't offer any more, he bit back a sigh. Sometimes he could prod her into talking but many times he just had to wait it out. Like the sea, the wind, she did things in her own time. "Erestor told me he wasn't able to help with identifying the mold."

"Faelon already pestered me about leaving."

It was a faint smile, but encouraging to see. "Do you agree?"

"There's no reason to linger." She looked towards the river; the roaring of the falls was audible even inside the buildings. At night its song twined with the wind in the trees and the distant howls of wolves. "Can we send a hawk to let Lord Celeborn know we're on the way?"

"We should." Glorfindel couldn't help the smile that curled his lips. There was an odd contentment to sitting there, holding hands, just conversing with each other. One he was not keen to break. "I suppose Faelon is all for leaving at dawn?"

"Not dawn." Laughing, Bronwë shifted closer to lean in against him, and he freed one hand to circle her shoulders with his arm. "Elrond said you believe Celebrían will find healing in Aman. That gives him hope, you know."

Cuddling her closer, Glorfindel smiled as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I do believe it."

"Maybe Aman isn't so bad."

"High praise from you!"

Bronwë wrinkled her nose. "I didn't say it was awful, I just can't imagine wanting to leave Middle-earth and go live where the Valar and Maiar are everywhere." He laughed at that, and she poked his chest. "I'm quoting you, so don't deny it."

"Perhaps not _every_ where."

"Mmm."

"Bron-"

The door slammed open, and a blond whirlwind staggered in then struggled to close the door against the push of the wind. Faelon turned and shoved his wind-blown hair out of his face to huff at the pair watching him. "There you are! I've looked all over this haven and here you are lazing about in the ...are those oranges?"

Biting back a laugh, Glorfindel winked at Bronwë who was grinning. "They are."

"You have orange trees here." Faelon moved closer to gently touch one waxy green leaf. "I've never seen them. We get the fruit in Lindon from the ships coming into port from Harad, but..."

"The blossoms are amazing, but t'is early yet. Come back several moons from now and this building will be full of their perfume."

"Maybe I will." Snapping out of his distraction, Faelon prowled to where they sat. "When are we leaving for Lothlórien? There is nothing here for us, Bronwë."

She sat up and met his gaze. "Would you climb the trail out of the valley in this weather, Faelon? It is snowing and doesn't look to clear out before tomorrow."

"Oh." Pursing a lip, Faelon looked outside where snow was coming down harder than before. "How much of that is going to fall?"

"Not so much as to hinder us, if you're truly determined to go." Glorfindel stood and offered his hand to Bronwë. "We'll take the old road, towards Hollin. The High Pass will be too dangerous with snow falling this low. If the weather holds fair, we can make it to the base of Caradhras in fourteen days or less." Shaking his head, he pulled his cloak around his shoulders. "I cannot guarantee the Redhorn Pass will be open, but we can try."

Faelon hesitated. He knew Imladris' lady had been attacked at the Redhorn and Caradhras was, at best, temperamental. "The other option is the Gap of Rohan?"

"Yes, but that will delay getting to Lothlórien." Glorfindel shrugged. "The Redhorn drops you practically at the feet of the forest outside Lothlorien."

"What does Thalion say?"

That earned a quirky smile. "He is willing to go whichever way we decide. But he did ask that we wait until the snow is not blowing sideways."

Bronwë laughed. "I agree! Can you bear to wait another day, my friend?"

A long sigh was her answer, and Faelon held out his hand. "If I must, but come with me and let me show you what we found! I've never seen these drawings of Doriath, and Lindir, he's a bard here, said he knows some very old tunes he learned from someone who claims to have known Daeron himself!"

Pulled along by enthusiasm and an insistent hand, Bronwë allowed Faelon to draw her out of the conservatory and they ran, laughing, up the path towards the main house. Glorfindel followed at a more sedate pace, both amused and annoyed. Fate seemed to be conspiring against him.

That would have to change.

* * *

"I thought I'd find you here." Erestor leaned against the entry of the room, a knowing smile curling his lips. "You intend to lead them to the Redhorn and return here?"

"No, I'm going to Lothlórien with them." Glorfindel grabbed a shirt from his armoire, sniffed it to see if the cats had been in there again, and folded it before putting it in his saddlebag.

"I'm sure your cousin will be thrilled to see you again. Especially after the last time when you-"

"It wasn't just me, and I assure you that Haldir was fine."

Erestor wasn't fooled. He knew the marchwarden had as much pride as the elf in front of him, if not more. "It wasn't Elrond that he was vowing vengeance upon."

"Of course not." An extra cloak, and...where was...ah. There. He tucked the last item into a secure pocket inside the saddle bag. "Elrond is Elrond." Straightening, Glorfindel brushed back the braid that had fallen into his face and met Erestor's gaze. "I'm not worried."

"All right." Erestor shrugged and pushed away from the door frame. "And Galadriel?"

"Is always the same." Sitting on the leather chair nearest the fireplace, Glorfindel gestured. "Come in if you're going to stay and gossip."

A shake of his head, and Erestor arched an eyebrow. "I don't gossip. And you should be in the Hall of Fire."

A blatant lie. Everyone knew if you wanted to information of what was happening in Imladris, and often in any of the havens, you went to Erestor. His web of informants would be frightening except Glorfindel knew he was on their side. "I thought you were trying to get rid of me again."

The smile that curled Erestor's lips was genuine. "Get rid of you? I want a much longer-term solution than that, and, to the best of my knowledge, that solution is seated right now in the Hall of Fire, swapping stories with Lindir and the other minstrels." When no response came to that, Erestor sighed and turned to leave. "Glorfindel, really. Wipe the frown from your face and go sit with your healer." He paused at the door. "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting."

His healer. Deciding he liked that, Glorfindel stopped to change his shirt and re-braid his hair before heading for the Hall of Fire.

* * *

"Fate truly is not on your side."

"You too?" Glorfindel set his mug down with a thump and scowled at the merry face of the one person in Imladris he was very careful to never anger. It never paid to make a bard angry at you. They would make up the worst songs and always with catchy tunes that stuck in the minds of everyone around you and those people would sing and whistle the song... No, far better to keep the bard happy. "Does everyone know?"

"Not quite. Give it a bit more time though and they might." Pushing a long fall of silver hair over his shoulder, Lindir shrugged. "Who could have predicted Mireth would go into labor? And right in the middle of my new song." A sigh and the bard leaned one elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. "Never try to compete against children."

He had to smile. Lindir had that effect on people. "I would say it was more her screaming the walls down that distracted everyone."

Shrugging a shoulder, Lindir poked at a pastry. "Likely, but the result was the same. The mood was ruined." He wrinkled his nose. "As was one of my favorite cushions. Must she have broke her water on that particular cushion?"

"So inconsiderate," Glorfindel said, deadpan then laughed. "It's not ruined!

The look became one of horror. "Glorfindel, for you bodily fluids might not be a huge concern seeing that you go out and cut orcs and the like to bloody bits. I, however, saw enough blood and other nasty things that belong inside a person but were not during the Last Alliance. Enough for an elven lifetime and then another lifetime." He picked up the pastry and broke it open to see what the filling was. "Oooh, raisin and apple!"

"Blood and bodily fluids can be washed away."

The bard shuddered. "I still dream. Vividly." He looked at the pastry with a moue before dropping it, now in two pieces, back on the plate. "Dreams, my friend, cannot be washed so clean." Lindir stood. "I need tea. Strong, copious amounts of tea."

Chuckling as Lindir swaggered away, mug in hand, Glorfindel looked out to see the snow was easing. One thing, at least, was on his side. They would be able to leave the next day.

* * *

Morning dawned cold and clear, the breath of elves and horses steaming in the crisp air. The sun was slow to reach the valley floor, but it was bright on the mountain peaks, promising warmth to come.

Elrond caught Glorfindel on one of his trips back inside to fetch his boot knife and pulled him aside. "Old friend, I know how protective you are of those in your care, and this one time I cannot find it in myself to gainsay that instinct." He pressed a sheathed sword into Glorfindel's hands. "I know you have a blade, and it is a good one, but humor me, please."

The sheath was battered and scratched, but the sword that Glorfindel pulled halfway from it was gleaming, and honed to an edge so fine he had no doubt it would cleave through nearly anything short of granite. There were runes etched on the blade and he only read a few before looking to Elrond in astonishment. Returning the blade to the sheath, Glorfindel held it out. "I cannot. This is yours."

"I have put away the sword, my friend. Save the direst need, I cannot see myself needing it."

That was a lie. Elrond was a deadly foe, fighting with a cool precision that few could match. "You stand there and tell me should the need arise to defend this haven you will not take a sword in hand?"

Smiling for the dubious look, Elrond arched an eyebrow. "No." He pressed the sheath back and met the blue gaze. "I am telling you to take this sword and defend those in your care as you journey over lands we know are filled with shadow."

Leaving unspoken what Glorfindel could hear even so. His heart ached anew for what was lost. "I should have been with her-"

"Glorfindel."

The tone brooked no argument, not even from one close as a brother. Bowing his head, heavy gold braids brushing the sheathed sword, Glorfindel closed his eyes and let the moment go. "Thank you." He looked up, eyes bright with the fire of a heart tried and found true. "I will use it in honor of her memory and those I defend."

"Stars light your path, old friend." And the smile he gained in return was fierce.

* * *

**TBC**


	10. Questions Under the Stars

* * *

There was a serenity to Lothlórien, a sense that you could leave and come back two hundred years later and nothing would have changed. Arwen supposed it wasn't true, but little had changed since she had first begun visiting with her mother as a small child. Perhaps a mallorn or two had fallen, and such events were always important, but other than that? Arwen sighed and felt like a butterfly floating on a gentle breeze as she walked along the paths in the trees. After the turmoil in Imladris for the past several years, she craved the solitude and peace of her Grandparent's haven. Oh, she loved her father fiercely but there was nothing she could do for him. In so many ways, she was a painful reminder of her mother.

It was useless to ask why, but the question haunted her. Why had her mother been attacked? Why had they tormented her? Was it truly a mercy that the orcs had not killed her? At times, Arwen wondered, though her mother had been incredibly strong, even on her most pain-filled days, and insisted she was grateful she had not been killed.

Arwen was mourning as if Celebrían had died. And why not? Her mother was gone from her life until some unforeseeable future when she might be healed and they might be together again. That was a great too many mights for Arwen. She still had so many questions! And she had expected to have her mother there for all the occasions they had dreamed of seeing: marriage, the birth of Arwen's children.

Now those dreams were dead and Arwen was angry, because what had she or her mother ever done to deserve such a fate? Blinking back tears that burned her eyes, she found a quiet corner where no prying eyes would see her and ask questions.

But there was someone there already, and Arwen didn't hesitate to run forward and accept the invitation of his open arms. "Ah, Undómiel." Celeborn closed his eyes as his granddaughter sobbed against his shoulder and stroked the long fall of her hair. What words could he say that would ease her broken heart? The aching loss of his daughter was painful, but he had deep well of experience gleaned from thousands of years, years that had been filled with many losses and many joys, and though it seemed an impossible thing, Celeborn knew that in time the wound would not hurt so fiercely. "Sit with me, Arwen." Leading her to the bench, he held her until she pulled back.

"I'm sorry, Daeradar, I just..."

"No apologies." He handed her a square of soft cloth. "I weep still myself. It is a grievous loss."

Dabbing at her eyes, Arwen gave up and blew her nose. Unladylike or not, there simply was no way to cry and look beautiful! "Daernaneth seems to hold up better."

Celeborn reached to pull a long swath of hair out of Arwen's face and tucked it behind a delicately pointed ear. "She puts on a better front, Arwen, that is all." The smile was gentle. "Your grandmother spent long ages when appearing weak was dangerous." He shook his head. "It it but habit now to show a strong face."

Pulling the beautifully stitched edges of the handkerchief, Arwen sniffled. "I'm so angry. Why did it have to happen to Naneth? Why couldn't Ada heal her?" She looked up, eyes red from weeping. "How many times has he been lauded as the mightiest healer of all time?"

"He is not a Vala, Undómiel." Taking her hand to spare his handkerchief from mutilation, Celeborn sighed. "He is many things, and many of them are more than anyone should expect of him, but he is not Ilúvatar."

"Then perhaps I should be angry at him!"

Though not a child, Arwen had led a sheltered life, safe, pampered, the only daughter of doting parents and brothers who adored her. Oh, there were squabbles, but nothing like the tales his wife had told of her siblings. "You can, if that is what you wish."

Peeping from under lashes that were sticking together, Arwen stared. "I...you aren't going to admonish me to respect the One?"

Celeborn shrugged a shoulder. "The Powers, though I have never met them myself, seem quite able to handle whatever messy emotions we lesser beings hurl at them." When she continued to stare, he smiled. "Arwen, do you think them so fragile of ego as to crumble into anger because in our pain and distress we lash out?"

"You think they understand?" Offering her best skeptical look, Arwen shook her head. "Glorfindel has said much the same, but I didn't expect it from you, Daeradar."

The chuckle was deep and soft. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know...perhaps a more...heretical point of view, given your opinions of certain things the Noldor hold to be true."

"Ah, Undómiel." Circling her shoulder with his arm, Celeborn squeezed her shoulder. "The Noldor are some of the biggest heretics alive. Well, some of the most heretical Noldorin are in Mandos, but were the Noldos in your father's haven so pious?"

"Not pious. Just...cautious, as if they expected a bolt from the blue to strike them down for speaking something."

Shaking his head, Celeborn lifted a hand. "No bolts."

"Not yet." Arwen couldn't help the tiny smile, but it faded as her mind circled back persistently to what burned so painfully. "There is no reason why then."

"Not one we understand."

"That is truly horrible."

"Would you want to understand everything? In all the world?"

Pursing a lip, Arwen considered that for a moment. "Perhaps just this one instance to start?"

She did not lack for boldness. Celeborn loved that about his granddaughter. "Was your naneth able to explain why she had to go?"

The shrug was as casual as Arwen could make it, but it did not belie the protective hunch of her shoulders. "To remain was to fade and truly die. She said she was too weak, though she fought to delay her leaving so very hard."

Celeborn hugged her closer as a sob shook her shoulders. "Your mother is a fighter, Undómiel. Never doubt that. There is nothing short of death that would have taken her from you and your family. Nothing."

"I want to believe that!" Tears ran down her face again. "But she did leave us!"

"Arwen." Shifting, Celeborn took hold of her shoulders. "She was fading. Death would have come, a slow, agonizing loss of self, bit-by-bit until all that was left was a mere shell of the person she had been. Is that what you wanted? To watch your mother's soul crumble to ash?"

"No... No! I just want her to be here, with me!"

Too soon. Too soon to expect her to reason, with too little experience of life learned. In some ways it was a mercy. In others, such a burden. Celeborn pulled her close again, and let her weep her rage into his chest.

Sometimes all you could do was be there, to listen, to hold them. Healing would come in time but for now...

Celeborn rocked Arwen slowly as he had when she was an infant, humming a low cradlesong that he had learned from his mother. "I will be here for you, dear heart. Until the last bird sings and the sun and moon die, I will be here."

"You cannot promise that." Murmured into his shoulder by a very weary young woman.

"But I can, and I do."

Arwen leaned back to meet his gaze, the silver-blue eyes full of starlight and wisdom, the eyes of one who had seen countless ages pass, the loss of family, of home and now, of his only daughter. She was too weary to question it now, and part of her, like a child, just wanted to believe. Arwen tucked her head under his chin and leaned into his embrace. "I love you, Daeradar."

"I love you too, my Undómiel."

* * *

The ladies of Lothlórien were annoying her. Weaving, singing, dancing, those were things Arwen had learned from her mother. She did not want to do them right now, not when the remembrance of such things hurt so badly. There were a few female elves who were defenders of Lothlórien, but none of them were in the city at present, nor near enough to find and speak with. Galadriel was little help. Oh, she had shown Arwen the secret of weaving her will into a cloak so that it might hide the wearer from those seeking him and that was fascinating. But it wasn't enough. It didn't help drive the memories that hurt so much away. She needed to be active, to be moving.

Life in Lothlórien seemed to move perpetually in slow motion, as if time itself was slowed. There was no sense of hurry or urgency, and few outsiders were allowed so far into the Golden Woods. Arwen was guarded, watched and admired and this too was nothing new, but what was beauty? Inner beauty was as esteemed as outward appearance and certainly it helped to be intelligence and witty if you wanted anyone to do more than simply admire your hair, skin or gowns. In appearance, she was truly Elrond's daughter, with his storm-cloud grey eyes and midnight black hair. She knew others considered her beautiful, even Glorfindel, who was himself considered one of the fairest elves in Endórë. Beauty wasn't enough for her. She wanted to be strong, to ...to _do_ something!

But what could a cherished daughter, one who had seen only a short time over two thousand summers, do for a people who were fading? What could she do that her grandmother, known as wise, and powerful, had not done?

Arwen bit her lip and continued towards her talan. Her brothers had found their solution in riding out with the Rangers, and cleansing the lands of orcs. That was hardly something her father, or Glorfindel, even Erestor would ever allow her to even consider.

She was their Undómiel, protected, cherished.

And it grated in some ways. She longed to be reckless and brave, like her brothers...

Arwen's brows drew together at the sound of steel ringing on steel, and she hurried towards her talan, running as she saw her ladies gathered, staring down, towards the ground at something.

"What is going on?" Pushing her way past several of the giggling maidens, Arwen stopped to stare down at the grassy area beneath her tree. "Oh..." A frown, none too maidenly, and certainly not the most attractive of expressions, gathered on the Evenstar's fair brow. "What are they doing?!"

Blades blurred, steel almost appearing fluid, liquid, as the twins danced around one another, dueling with live, wickedly sharp blades. Feet barely touching the ground, one advanced, mirror image retreating. Impossible to tell, at this speed and distance, who was whom. They were laughing, she could hear that.

"Watch your left guard, Elrohir, or you'll be a round ear!"

"Ha! Beware your own guard, brother, or you'll have one less braid!"

And suddenly...they halted, blades crossed, identical faces pressed close, both grinning, before breaking apart.

"You're getting slow, brother. Are you certain you didn't choose to become a Man?"

"You might want to look to your left arm, brother. I believe you're missing a bit of your tunic?"

Elladan quickly looked down and gaped at the slice in his tunic. He scowled, and none-to-gently socked his brother in the arm. "When did you do that?" A laugh broke from him then, and he wiped his face on his arm.

"When you were distracted by a maiden's giggle." Elrohir gestured upwards with a roguish grin.

Arching an eyebrow, Elladan looked up and gave a jaunty salute. "Hello, fair maidens!"

More giggles, and glowers from the young elves standing around the edges of the clearing.

Elladan caught sight of the would-be suitors and twirled a blade. "Who wants to spar next?"

It really was amazing how quickly the elves of the Golden Wood could melt into their beloved trees. They were not lacking bravery, but none truly wanted to go against the Lady's grandsons - both because of their skill, and imagined repercussions with Galadriel and Celeborn should something happen to either grandson.

"ELLADAN! ELROHIR!" Arwen bellowed, grace and poise forgotten. She charged down the sweeping stairs of her tree, the light of a promised battle firing her eyes.

Elrohir winced, and quickly sheathed his blades. It wouldn't do to have his sister using his own weapons against him.

"Oh bother," Elladan sighed. "Here we go again..."

* * *

Legs dangling over the edge of the talan, booted feet swinging in empty air with nothing to drum against, Elladan curled his hands around the edge of the wood platform and leaned forward. "Another messenger bird for Celeborn. I wonder what all the excitement is about?"

Elrohir, seeing the precarious perch his brother had chosen, sat next to him, tugging on the back of his tunic. "It's going to be news that the elder son of Elrond tumbled from a talan if you don't sit back. I don't think grandfather would appreciate the sight of you flailing past his council hall, and I know I would not."

Huffing slightly at his brother's sharp tone, the elder of the twins sat back, crossed his ankles, and continued swinging his feet. "I'm bored. It's just so...peaceful here. There's nothing to do!"

Considering the potential trouble a bored Elladan presented, Elrohir pursed a lip. "We could ask to go out with the marchwardens." They had been there long enough to see one full moon, and it was waxing yet again. Entertaining Arwen had lasted all of several days before their sister had chased them off in annoyance, huffing that they were discouraging all of the handsome elves from coming to see her.

Entirely true, it had proven vastly amusing to the twins to spar with their dual blades at the foot of the talan their sister was occupying. Not only had they gained the admiring attention of the ladies attending Arwen, it had also served to remind any of the Galadhrim their sister was a treasure to their family. One they protected fiercely.

Arwen, predictably, had not seen it that way. Elrohir wrinkled his nose at the memory of his sister's normally musical voice raised in angry tones at them.

"Find Haldir first and then gain grandfather's approval?" Elladan flopped back on the talan, gazing up at the budding golden leaves of the mallyrn.

"And grandmother's." Yawning, Elrohir settled back, gazing up at the blue, blue sky through the branches of the trees.

Elladan nodded absently. As if there was anything that went on in the haven that Galadriel wasn't aware of. It had bothered him in his adolescent years, to think that his grandmother could read his every thought as if he had spoken it aloud. Celeborn could be as inscrutable as the trees, as overwhelming, in a very different way from his wife. Both were far older than his parents, far more prone to melancholy and somberness. They had seen much of what the twins thought of as history, lived through what had merely been lessons to the boys.

Rolling sideways, swinging a leg over Elrohir, Elladan ignored the frown he gained for grazing his muddy boot across his twin's tunic and stepped over Elrohir, rising to his feet. Shrugging, Elladan offered a hand to his brother. "Come, I'm bored. Let's go find Haldir and discover what messages the birds bring."

* * *

Haldir put them to work, something they should have foreseen. He was the Golden Woods version of Glorfindel, only very, very Silvan. Which meant prying information out of him was three times as hard as getting it from Glorfindel, and involved time spent doing something constructive.

After watching them, making certain they were fletching the arrows properly, Haldir returned to finishing the arrows he was crafting. He seemed intent on his work, and Elladan nodded his head towards Haldir. Elrohir shook his head, and glared. It had been his brother's idea to question the Silvan, let _him_ ask! Sure that Haldir was not paying attention, Elladan risked a glance at the marchwarden, only to find his gaze met. "What are you two plotting now?" Smiling just enough to curl his mouth the tiniest bit, Haldir flipped near-white hair over his shoulder as he set his arrow down. "And do not tell me naught. I've known you both far too long to believe those innocent expressions are anything but entirely devious."

"Haldir!" Elrohir stared at the marchwarden in mock dismay, bringing a hand to his chest.

"What have we ever done to gain the description 'devious'?" Elladan wrinkled his nose at a feather that had split, and tossed it aside.

A pale eyebrow shot up, nearly to the elf's hairline. "Shall I begin when you were elflings and go chronologically, or would you prefer only the past few times you've visited?" Spoken in a quiet, droll tone that left no doubt that he was amused.

"The canopies were full of rainwater and gave way from the weight."

Elrohir nodded. "'Twas purely bad timing that Arwen and her friends were under them, weaving at the time."

"Ah." Nodding, entirely unconvinced, Haldir finished tying off the fletching and cut the remainder of the string with his dagger. "And I suppose Rumil's stomach discomfort caused from ingesting those mushrooms was none of your doing either?

"Even grandmother said they looked exactly like the good ones!" Elladan carefully stripped the feather he was working on and set it in place before looking up. "Don't forget we ate them too."

Elrohir nodded, grimacing at the memory. He still couldn't abide the smell of mushrooms, not after becoming that ill.

Shaking his head, the Silvan set the arrows he had finished in a quiver. They were right, he was remembering the pranks they had played whilst elflings. The stigma of being pranksters just seemed to follow them, yet both had settled into adulthood with something of their father's quiet dignity. Which did not necessarily mean one should forget the gleam of mischief that was still prone to appear in either of the twin's eyes when bored. "What is it you two want from me?"

"Tell us what is going on."

"That last hawk looked to be one of Imladris' birds." Elrohir loved the raptors, their fierce pride and the beauty of their flight. "Is Adar checking up on us?"

"No." Pale blue eyes and an inscrutable expression gave nothing away. Haldir sat motionless, patience itself, as he waited for their next question.

A shared look between the twins as they considered their next move, and then Elrohir leaned forward. "What is the news from the Grey Havens? Is all well?"

Haldir simply stared at them for a moment, considering his answer. "I will leave that to your grandparents to share with you, however I will tell you that we expect visitors soon."

"How soon?" "Who?" Spoken at the same time, in voices too similar to tell apart.

Arching an eyebrow, Haldir smiled slightly, cocking his head. "Before the next full moon, three Silvan Elves, travelling with six of your father's guard..." He accepted the arrows Elladan passed him, placing them in the quiver. "...as well as their captain."

"Glorfindel is coming here?"

The marchwarden didn't miss the grins of delight as the twins looked at one another. His own feelings on the matter were far more mixed, but irrelevant at the moment. "Yes, or so Lord Elrond said in the message we received today."

"I wonder if Bronwë is one of those Silvans?" Elrohir chewed on his bottom lip, thinking.

"Probably, if Glorfindel left Mithlond so quickly. But they went to Imladris first?" A slanted look earned Elladan nothing.

"That makes no sense." Looking to the Silvan sitting before them for an answer, Elrohir received only a shrug.

"I must go." Standing in a smooth, graceful motion, Haldir nodded to the younger elves. "Speak to your grandparents, young ones. If Lord Celeborn says you may accompany us to greet your...Gofi..." He smirked at the nickname. "...then I will welcome your presence."

Elladan bounced to his feet, impatient to go find his grandparents. "We'll find you."

"I've no doubt of that." Another nod, and the pale Silvan strode away.

Elrohir shook his head, intrigued at the mystery. "I wonder what brings them here?"

Grabbing his tunic sleeve, pulling him up, into motion, Elladan gestured. "Let's go and find out!"

* * *

Snow was everywhere. On the ground, swirling through the air, in his eyes, catching in his hair, leaving it more white and damp than golden. More of an annoyance than true hindrance; he hadn't expected it to snow. Early spring was unpredictable in the mountains.

For an elf who had crossed the Helcaraxë the cold was negligible. Glorfindel shifted his saddlebag and adjusted the bow over his shoulder. He hoped they wouldn't need it here in such a storm, but he had learned long ago that it was better to always, always be prepared for the worst.

Then be pleasantly surprised when nothing jumped out to bite, slash or try to make you its next meal.

The coastal elves, used to milder weather, were having a rougher time. Elven steps were light enough to walk atop the snow, but when said snow was blowing from three directions, blasting into ones eyes, all the time making one very aware of the steep drop into a deep gorge just several steps in the wrong direction...

They were going a bit more cautiously, amusing the golden haired elf. These same elves ran silent and swift across tree branches, leaping from tree to tree as though it was a wide, cobbled street, barely disturbing a single leaf! Many attempts had been made to teach him the fine art of branch walking, to little avail. He could do it, and do so competently, but Glorfindel had long ago resigned himself to the fact he would never be entirely comfortable in the trees. Not the way Silvan Elves were.

Fortunately, at least to Glorfindel's way of thinking, there were far more places to walk upon the ground, than trees, therefore he had the advantage.

Teleri to their ships and seas, Silvans to their trees. He and the Noldor had the best of it.

Turning to those following behind him in time to see Bronwë nearly blunder into the cliff wall, Glorfindel grabbed her arm to steady her. "Careful." His hair whipped about him like a mane in the howling wind, and yet he stood calm and unruffled. Grinning in fact, regardless that snow clung to his clothing and cloak like a new garment of white.

Blinking snow out of her eyes, looking miserably wet and unhappy, Bronwë nodded to him. Walking on snow was entirely different than walking on the solidness of tree branches. Trees shifted, moving with the wind, but not like this soft, slippery stuff! A gust blew up, taking her cloak upwards until it looked as though she was going to fly away and she held tighter to his arm. "Does it never stop?"

Peering up through the falling snow, Glorfindel shrugged. "Caradhras is grumpy I suppose."

Faelon stumbled into her, grabbing on to keep from falling, and grimaced. "Are we near the pass?"

Seeing his friends cuddling up, Thalion joined them, grinning slightly at the sight of his disheveled companions. Throwing his arms around the two Silvans, he chuckled. "To think we asked Lord Círdan for the privilege of making this journey!"

"And don't think he wasn't aware of all this!" Bronwë grumped, closing her eyes against another wind and snow blast. "His sense of humor is entirely warped from living so long as to grow a beard."

"A bit more, then we will begin the descent." Glorfindel took the moment to make sure his guards were all right. "Valandil, how is your arm?"

"Fine, milord!" Waving the once-injured arm, the dark-haired elf grinned, unaffected by the snow. He'd spent many winters further north on patrol, sleeping in trees, wrapped only in his cloak. This storm was a mere nuisance.

"So we're the fair weather weaklings," Bronwë sighed. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the soldiers were far more used to enduring hardships than the Silvans.

It was irking all the same.

Warm, strong arms came around, cuddling her back into a slightly soggy, but solid form. For a moment, warm breath teased over the cold tip of her ear and she shivered. Faelon and Thalion smirked, even as Glorfindel chuckled, tightening his arms. "Remember you said that, not me." He grunted as her elbow nudged his stomach and released her. "Come, only a bit more and we will see the sun again!" Turning, he began walking again.

"Is he always this infuriatingly cheerful?" Faelon, not that eager to leave the warmth of his friend's embrace, wrinkled his nose.

"Unless he's wounded or mad at someone for doing something stupid, yes." Bronwë pressed her forehead to his cheek, hugging both of her friends before pulling away. "Sunshine would be most welcome right now."

"Definitely," said Thalion as he nearly walked into a jutting outcrop. "I'm eager to be able to see again."

Faelon just nodded, pulled his cloak tighter around his body and began walking.

* * *

Rumil and Orophir were silent, pale shadows behind their brother, hawk like features accented by the morning sunlight filtering through the bare mallyrn branches. Golden, as golden as their beloved woods, the sentries were inscrutable as they watched the twins approach.

Haldir, standing a bit in front of them, waited, a slight smile curling his lips. He hadn't missed seeing the quivers, filled with the white-fletched arrows of Lothlórien, nor the bone-handled swords slung over their backs.

Elladan preferred the duel blades, Elrohir, the single sword, but then Elrohir relied more on wits than his brother, who preferred to wade into a battle and work his way out.

They were alike in appearance, but different in almost every other way. Haldir had long ago learned their differences, and respected them. He and his brothers were often mistaken for one another, something that had annoyed all three of them when younger. It had proven later to be an advantage when facing an enemy who could not tell you apart.

"Hail, Captain of the Northern Border!"

Elladan. Haldir marked the jaunty gait and easy grin, near-black hair braided back from his face, to hang loose down his back.

Elrohir merely nodded his greeting, gaze including the other two Silvan Elves. His hair was tightly braided back, the tail of the braid tucked into his cloak. All the better to not interfere with his vision or aim. He was the quieter shadow walking confidently at the shoulder of his twin.

Haldir nodded a greeting. "Sons of Elrond. Lord Celeborn informed me you would be joining us."

"Is it just we five?"

"No." Gesturing to the trees surrounding them, Haldir's pale gaze flickered to the near-invisible talain perched in the trees. Pale wraiths, half a dozen Silvans dropped from the trees to join them.

Elladan shook his head, scowling slightly. How did they do that? It was one of the things he hoped to coax the marchwardens into teaching him. After all, his mother had been raised in these woods. As her son, did he not have the right to learn the same skills?

Nodding, smiling slightly as he caught his twin's annoyance, Elrohir's grey eyes gleamed with the anticipation of excitement. "Have there been many orcs on the borders?"

"Mostly on the southern side, but they are growing bold." Rumil's soft voice was almost but a whisper in the trees.

"We have not forgotten the torment of your mother, our Lady's daughter." Pale eyes were hard for a moment, almost like a polished agate, then Haldir blinked and it was replaced with the implacable expression. "Our patrols extend out beyond the woods now."

Elladan's expression darkened at the mention of his mother and he shifted his feet impatiently.

Squeezing his brother's shoulder, Elrohir met the captain's gaze. "Let us get to it then."

* * *

Glorfindel halted the group as they came down off the rocks, leaping lightly to a large boulder to gaze at the valley below them. "There is Lothlórien." He grinned at the slight frowns the Silvans offered. "Only the outer edges. The mallyrn are well-guarded in the heart of the city."

"Lord Círdan said we would be met at the borders." Thalion gazed at the forest as if he could pick out the guards hiding there, and perhaps he could. It was often said it took a Silvan to discover another Silvan whilst in the trees.

"We will." Glorfindel snorted, shaking out wet hair from his cloak, encouraging it to dry faster. "No one enters without their knowledge and consent." A smirk curled his mouth as he thought of the time he and Elrond had done just that, and surprised the marchwardens.

Leaning against a rock, Bronwë pulled one of her boots off, grimacing as she dumped water out, and pulled the sock off to wring it dry. How snow had managed to get into the boot was beyond her, but she was weary of listening to the squishing noise with every step she took.

"Perhaps a bit of a rest before we enter?" Glorfindel watched, trying to hide his amusement as the healer finally sat, pulling off the other boot as well. "The sun is pleasantly warm."

"Good." Faelon flopped next to Bronwë, sprawling boneless in the sunshine.

"We're almost there though..." Thalion fidgeted before dropping his saddlebags and sitting. None of them had forgotten the reason for their journey, nor the urgency. Seeing how weary his two companions truly appeared, he nodded his assent. Their warding still held. Even at this great distance, he could feel it, like a delicate silver cord binding them to the diseased trees. Lord Círdan was more than able to handle any other problems, and had been doing so for a very long time before three Silvans ever entered his life. Satisfied with his reasoning, Thalion settled back to soak up the sun.

"It's a ways still to Caras Galadon, even once we're met at the borders." Glorfindel eyed the sun, gauging the time. "Though if we enter near dusk, we'll be able to spend the night in talain instead of on the ground."

"That sounds wonderful!" Faelon didn't move, nor open his eyes, but he grinned in delight.

"Seconded." Bronwë pursed a lip as she spotted the guards fanning out to watch the surrounding area. She wouldn't feel comfortable until they were in the trees.

"Dry off a bit then, and we'll continue." Glorfindel pulled his bow, examining the string, before checking to see how his arrows had weathered the journey. A yelp, quickly followed by snickering giggles turned his attention back to the three Silvans.

Faelon wiped water from his face, and glared indignantly at his friends as they giggled.

"It was just snow still frozen in the hood of my cape, Faelon." Bronwë grinned innocently as she shook the cloak out.

"Ummhmm..." Sniffing in insult, the blond Silvan stretched back out, warily keeping an eye on his companions.

"Just like that pine cone somehow just magically appeared in my boot yesterday morning though I had just shaken them out."

Thalion coughed, looking away before Bronwë saw the grin on his face.

Listening to the friendly squabbling, Glorfindel continued to check his weapons, smiling. It was rather like listening to the twins and Arwen, and was oddly comforting. It reminded him of home - both his home in Imladris, and the one of his childhood, where he had often bickered just the same with his own siblings.

Sighing at the memory of long ago days, he sat back on his heels and just enjoyed the moment.

* * *

_**TBC** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't take the first part of this to think I believe the elves of Lothlórien to be cowards. I know they definitely are not! But faced with the possible wrath of two very protective brothers, who are so kindly demonstrating their mastery over weapons for all of Arwen's would-be suitors, not to mention Arwen is their Lord and Lady's granddaughter... I think it prudent of the handsome young elves to ...wait. *g*


	11. In the Air Tonight

* * *

Haldir had seen much in his lifetime, experiencing great sorrows and boundless joy as did any elf who lived through the Ages. He remembered his brothers' births, how his mother had let him hold the tiny elves who would share in so much of his life, and how he had vowed then to be the best brother he could be for them. They were close, very close, and so he understood a little of the twins' patterns of thinking. How they would finish sentences for the other, speak at the same time, using the same tone.

People had mistaken his brothers for twins for the same reasons - Orophin and Rumil were only born but two decades apart. Having children so close in age in elven society was not the norm, but many of the older Silvans had raised their families thusly, preferring the close bonds it fostered. It had not been a strain on them, raising two young ones at nearly the same time, no moreso than those with twins. Haldir had helped as well, as had his grandparents.

His father and grandfather had died in the Last Alliance, and Haldir's mother and grandmother had sailed West at the war's end. The three brothers were closer now than they had ever been, when all they had was one another. He felt very protective towards his Lady's grandchildren, and, if he could have, would have done anything to spare them the pain they felt because of what their mother had suffered. Had he done enough, done his duty in protecting the borders of his home haven? Or could he have done more? Perhaps gone out to meet Lady Celebrían's party and escort them into the Golden Woods.

At times, especially in the long, quiet stretches of night, the scenarios of what might have been played endlessly through his mind, taunting him for his failure. He had failed to protect Lady Galadriel's daughter. Lord Celeborn's only child. It grieved him, burned at him until he sought more and more patrols, prowling the northern borders and wiping out whatever evil dared enter their realm.

And yet...it wasn't enough. Not enough to purge the ache of what had happened to a gentle, fair lady he had known since her birth.

No elf deserved that.

No being, elf or otherwise.

Already known as rather aloof and, at times, grim, Haldir sought to right the wrong...but even elves could not go back and change what had already been done. Now he saw his own behavior in Celebrían's sons. Saw himself in their relentless drive to wipe all orcs from their realm. He understood...and grieved for the innocence that they had lost.

A flicker of darkness just at the edges of his awareness narrowed Haldir's eyes to pale blue slits. "Yrch." His gaze met his brothers, and they nodded, Rumil going one direction, Orophir the other, each gesturing silently for a number of the marchwardens to accompany them. Yet more orcs daring to test the boundaries of their haven, thankfully coming in from the east. They would not run into the group from Mithlond.

His gaze fell on the twins, and before he could speak Elladan stepped forward. "Do not seek to protect us."

"Or stop us." Elrohir had his sword out, even as his brother was pulling the dual swords strapped on his back.

Shaking his head, Haldir arched an eyebrow. "I was going to tell you to stay with me, but if you do not wish our company..." With a curt bow, he stepped back, and turned with a flip of his grey cape to face the remaining Silvans waiting for his command.

Exchanging a glance with his brother, Elladan gave a quick nod and set a light hand on the Captain's shoulder. "Haldir, we meant no offense."

"There are still some who would protect us." Elrohir's smile was grim, with very little humor in it, and none reflected in the grey eyes. "To save us from our 'mad' vow."

Turning back to face the twins, Haldir met their gazes, holding each one long enough to let them see the same fierce light burned in his eyes as well. "Vows can be deadly, that is true." He inclined his head slightly. "But there are times that call for vengeance."

Feral grins met his pronouncement and the marchwarden gestured for them to follow. "Come, we will ambush them as they enter the forest." He had little pity for the orcs, but those dual grins were more than a little unnerving, mirrored as they were in near identical faces.

Pushing aside his thoughts, leaving room only for the hunt, Haldir led the twins and his elves through the trees, silent shadows seeking swift death for those who dared enter their Lady's woods.

* * *

Twilight was upon them as they entered the Golden Woods. Birds were calling to one another, settling in the branches for the night. The trees were sparse at the edge of the meadow, and grew close and thicker as the woods deepened.

It was already very dark, and ground fog began to fill the spaces between the trees, flowing on slow evening breezes, curling around the trunks of the birches and pines like cats rubbing against legs.

Faelon cocked his head, listening and slowly a curious smile lifted his expression. "These are ancient woods."

Glorfindel glanced his direction, nodding once before turning his attention back to trying to recall where he and Elrond had been met last time. Was it that clump of trees? They would have been much smaller, not quite so filled out and grown together. He walked over to the pines, peering up into the branches, and hoping to see a smug Silvan marchwarden looking down at him.

No such luck. Several birds stirred, blinking sleepily at the elf, fluffing feathers and chirping inquisitively.

Alerted to the mischievous tone of his friend's voice, Thalion gazed upwards, through the boughs, blinking once. A smile curved his lips and he reached out to tug Bronwë's cloak. "Bronwë, look at this moss Faelon found here..."

Caught watching Glorfindel whistling back to the birds, Bronwë turned, cheeks and ears heating a bit with a blush. Her eyebrows rose as she looked up, and she opened her mouth only to have Faelon cover it.

The blond elf shook his head, his grin one of pure mischief, and leaned forward to whisper so quietly only she could hear.

Moss? Glorfindel shook his head, not bothering to look. The birds twittered a bit more at him, but when he didn't answer, went back to sleep, tucking their heads and cuddling close to one another. Who knew what growing thing would next entrance the Silvans and have them traipsing off to get a closer look. Of all elves he understood them least. They were quiet, enigmatic, hard to understand... The majority of them lived in havens where few others dared to venture. Even in his first life, in Beleriand, he had not really interacted much with the Green Elves, who were most certainly close kin, and very much like their Silvan cousins. There were no better scouts though, capricious or not, and not even Rangers could track like the Green Elves.

One glance at Glorfindel, seeing he was safely preoccupied, and Bronwë leaped up lightly, catching a branch and disappeared up into the tree. Faelon followed a heartbeat later, Thalion right behind him, vanishing without even a whisper of sound into the branches.

Scowling at the fog that was obscuring any possible footprints, Glorfindel wandered around the clump of pines, searching for a familiar landmark. As long as you didn't mind a few inevitable flighty moments - like now, when moss became a thing of fascination to them - Silvans were...

"Milord, they're gone."

Moss, indeed! "What?" Glorfindel blinked out of his thoughts to stare a bit owlishly at his lieutenant. "Who?"

"The three Silvans." Valandil held his ground as his captain stalked over to stand before him, frowning.

Distinctly looking Not Happy.

"Gone. Did they say where?"

"No."

"They were over there." Ristar pointed out the spot. "I looked to my right, thinking I heard a noise, and when I turned back they were gone."

Glorfindel frowned, watching as the fog thickened perceptibly. He prowled over to where his guard indicated, staring up into the tree, seeing only pine needles, bark, a few fat pine cones. Nothing unusual. This trip had been plagued with odd spring weather. He didn't know the way to Caras Galdhon well enough to attempt to find it in a thick fog, there was no sign at all of their escort.

Yet.

And now the Silvans had disappeared. No doubt they weren't worried. They were in woods, after all, and what more did they need to be happy but trees? Regardless of their companions worry. Annoyance set his senses on a knife's edge. This area was well-patrolled, but dark creatures still crept in, seeking a place to hide from daylight when they wandered too far from Mirkwood. Lothlórien was in a precarious place, evil coming at her from south and north borders, seeking to ruin the beauty hidden within.

It was just as well Galadriel and Celeborn were as powerful as they were.

"The fog rises quickly, milord." Tyallio commented. "Are we near the Nimrodel then?"

"Not that near." Even elven eyesight had difficulty penetrating thick mist and he couldn't help the uneasy feeling tugging at his nerves. Glorfindel turned, opening his mouth to speak before realizing another guard was not standing where he had been just a moment before.

Not even a flicker of blue cloak to mark his disappearance. Nor was Sereture, another of his guards! It really wouldn't do to be found bellowing for their companions as the marchwardens found them, but Glorfindel was quickly running out of ideas as the fog swirled thicker around them.

Something moved in the mist; something dark, and grey, slipping through the trees like a wraith. "Bronwë?" He sensed no darkness, no evil intent, but Glorfindel's hand fell to his sword pommel from habit. "Form up!" he barked, gesturing the remaining guards to him.

"Lord Glorfindel!"

He pivoted, sword out in one smooth sweep, halting inches from removing Valandil's head from his shoulders. "Don't...do that!" Huffing, Glorfindel took a step back, shaking out his twitching arm.

"Sorry, milord, but..." His lieutenant gestured.

He had entered the woods with six guards and three Silvans. Now he had three guards and no Silvans. It was distinctly infuriating and he growled, glaring into the fog. Valandil remained near his captain, his own sword out as well. The fog was now so thick they could barely see one another.

The four elves stood back-to-back, weapons out, waiting to see what was prowling the fog that surrounded them. Standing that close, Glorfindel could hear their breathing, their hearts beating almost unbearably loud in the suffocating quiet of the fog.

He hated waiting, not knowing what was coming. No sound penetrated the thick grey white blanket of fog that settled around them, crawling over their skin in clammy prickles. Silence, entirely unnatural for woods, even at night. No owls hooted, no foxes yipped to one another.

Even the darker creatures made _some_ noise.

"Lord Glorfindel of Imladris." A pale wraith stepped forward, greys and greens resolving into the shape of the Captain of the northern border. Arching a near-white eyebrow, the elf leaned to one side to look around the fuming Elf-lord. "Only three. We were told to expect three Silvan Elves and six guards." He met the Elf Lord's gaze. "You seem to be missing several members of your group, my lord."

Clenching his jaw, Glorfindel forced a smile to his lips. "Haldir of Lorien." He nodded a greeting. "We were all here when we entered these blasted woods." Eyes narrowing, he took a step towards the marchwarden. "You would not know anything about where my companions are, would you?"

Haldir's enigmatic smile barely curved his lips. "Perhaps."

As if on cue the breeze strengthened, swirling the fog, clearing the area momentarily. Long enough for Glorfindel to see his missing guards standing not too far away, looking rather abashed and surrounded by elves wearing the grey and pale green of the Lothlórien marchwardens.

"That is the guard,..." Glorfindel advanced another step, intending to invade the Silvan's personal space very personally and get right in his face if need be to get an answer. "... where are the rest?"

Eyebrow arching at the clear warning of patience about to end, Haldir gestured to the trees. "My Lord, if you will but look to the trees?" His mild tone was nearly betrayed by the upwards twitch of his lips.

Three merry, and very familiar elves waved at Glorfindel as his eyebrows drew down in a ferocious frown. "You three..."

"Five." Elrohir stepped out on the branch to stand next to Bronwë, giving Glorfindel a jaunty salute with his sword.

Elladan shook his head as he dropped from the tree, landing with catlike grace to stroll over to his father's old friend. "Admit it, Gofi, you deserved that for what you and Adar did to Haldir years ago." He stopped just out of arm's reach, not entirely certain of the gleam in the blond elf's eyes.

"And you had to help." Shaking his head, Glorfindel sheathed his sword in a smooth, practiced move. "Was there not a lady present, Elladan, I might have something more to say to you." He stepped forward to engulf the younger elf in a tight hug.

It went on a bit longer than necessary for a simple, friendly greeting, and Elrohir began to snicker as his brother began pounding on the blond elf's back. "You never did beat him in wrestling, brother."

Glorfindel released him with a grin, pushing him gently back and chuckling. "Later, we will talk."

Nodding, wry grin curling his mouth, Elladan gestured to his twin. "'Tis safe to come down now...brother."

Putting his arm around Bronwë's waist, the younger of the twins arched one dark eyebrow at his twin's mocking tone. "I had a fair maiden to defend! Would you have me leave her in peril?"

"The only peril she is in is from you knocking her from that limb." Strolling over to the tree, Glorfindel met Elrohir's gaze, blue eyes promising retribution. "Or was that not you who -"

"Yes! Well, here, Bronwë..." Elrohir withdrew his arm, giving a very courtly bow. "After you."

Laughing merrily, pausing to squeeze his shoulder, Bronwë shook her head for all the gallantry. She certainly could get out of a tree on her own, but seeing Glorfindel raise his hand up towards her, expression expectant, she decided to humor the males and ignore her Silvan pride for the moment. She leaned forward to take his hand and jump down, breath catching on a sharp inhalation as he caught her mid-leap, swinging her around to hold her against him. "You played a knowing part in this, my lady."

Aware of the many eyes watching with great interest, Bronwë dropped her chin, letting her hair curtain her heated face. A silver fastening on Glorfindel's tunic was suddenly fascinating, as his breath fanned her face. "Only a bit."

"I shall have my satisfaction for your part in this," he promised in a voice pitched only for her ears. Glorfindel chuckled as the tips of her ears pinked. "Later." Gently setting her aside, he turned to Haldir.

"Come." Haldir's smile was a bit more welcoming as his gaze swept over the Silvans. "We have a ways to go yet. Tonight you shall sleep in our talain and be true Silvans."

Ignoring Glorfindel's snort, the marchwarden gestured everyone to follow, and began to walk. He was soon engulfed in the mist and the party hurried to follow, lest they be lost again.

Lingering behind, letting the rest of the party proceed, even as he watched the Silvan marchwardens nearly melt into the woods to take up the rearguard, Glorfindel fell into step next to the twins. "I was not certain I would find you two here or not."

"We heard a group was journeying from Imladris to see grandfather."

Elladan nodded. "Upon hearing there were Silvans in the group, we naturally assumed you would not let them go unescorted."

"Them." Elrohir snorted, slanting a grin at the blond elf. "Though it looks as though you are no closer to wooing her than before..." His words ended in a yelp as Glorfindel grabbed him, pulling the younger elf into a tight hug.

"You are both incorrigible," Glorfindel growled.

Neither twin missed the fond tone or warm gleam in the blue eyes and as he released Elrohir, they fell in on either side of Glorfindel, walking in companionable silence.

"Will you remain here a time, then?"

"Until Arwen drives us out at sword point?" Elladan snorted, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Chasing off her suitors again, hmm?"

"Someone has to with father and you not around." Elrohir sighed, bending to pick up a pine cone, and tossed it from hand to hand as he walked. "I do not think we will stay for much longer."

Elladan nodded, pursing a lip. "When you depart, we will as well." He shook his head, dark hair slithering over his shoulder. "There is nothing to do here of importance."

Leaving unsaid that there were plenty of orc tribes between Lothlórien and Imladris for them to hunt down and wipe out.

Glorfindel said nothing, frowning slightly as he listened to what his heart and intuition were discerning of the two walking with him. It was not good, but was what he expected. They were still grieving fiercely, quietly, in their typical fashion. Too often the twins drew together tightly, closing out all others, even their father and sister. Together from conception, there was no other who knew them as well as they knew one another, and so they saw no need for anyone else.

Hurtful to all those around them, but to themselves especially.

"Have you heard from Adar?" Elrohir pulled a leaf out of the pine cone and tossed it aside.

"He was doing better when we departed from Imladris." Glorfindel shook his head, keeping track of the group walking ahead...and the marchwardens trailing unseen behind. "If there was a reason for me to return, I would hear from Erestor."

"So?" Elladan leaned in a bit, grinning at the blond elf. "Have you said anything to her yet?"

"Or do you return to Imladris to mope about, driving Erestor and Adar mad?"

"Not to mention the cooks."

"They complain that you steal biscuits." Elladan arched an arrogant dark brow. "What say you to that, oh Balrog Slayer?"

Snorting, Glorfindel elbowed the elder of the twins, smirking as he grunted. "I say that your father's cooks are wonderful biscuit bakers."

Elrohir snickered. "True. And we will not even mention the -"

A distressed cry brought them all up short, pulling weapons in protective instinct as they charged forward to find the source of the problem.

Holding Bronwë in place as she recoiled, clearly unsettled as she tried to pull free, Faelon winced as her fingers dug into his arm. "Bronwë, it's not real!"

"Do not touch it."

Valandil froze in reaching out, gave her a curious look for the command, and straightened. "Who would do such a thing?"

Haldir, eyes narrowing as the healer turned to speak with Faelon and Thalion in Silvan, shook his head. "Darkness strives always to enter the Golden Woods." His expression was not kind as his gaze fell on the rough figure made of sticks and leaves. Too short and stocky to approximate a real elf, the figure was draped in a grey cloak that was darkened in patches. A black arrow protruded from the chest of the figure, and the cloak was torn in ragged edges on one side. Haldir pulled the arrow free with a grimace of extreme distaste. "One of the marchwardens fell defending against a tribe of orcs several days ago. They must have snuck back in and made this as a mockery to his death."

"Here?" Valandil moved back a ways, offering a respectful bow as the others bowed their heads. Indeed, it was if the leaves and moss were darkened in the spot, blighted from the blood spilt on the land. Fog moved in, swirling on the eddy of a breeze, obliterating the ground once again.

Shaking off her friend's hold, Bronwë withdrew from the area, pulling her cloak around her tightly, and looked disquieted as she waited for them to continue.

"Bronwë?" Glorfindel stepped forward, setting a hand on her arm, but was distracted by the hissing whispers of the twins. Both were pale, and Elrohir's hand, clenched so tightly around his sword the knuckles were white, was shaking.

"I'm fine." Spoken far sharper than she intended, Bronwë grimaced, and gestured towards the twins. "Go. Talk to them." Turning away from Glorfindel, she hesitated a moment before taking the hand Faelon offered, and let him guide her to one side.

Eyes narrowing, Glorfindel put aside his concern and turned Haldir. "Lead us on, if you will. The sooner we reach the talain the sooner we can rest."

The marchwarden nodded. "We will be safe there." Gesturing for Rumil, Haldir nodded. "Bring the cloak. We cannot leave it for them to desecrate further." Rumil carefully removed the cloak before kicking the figure into a pile of sticks. With a nod, Haldir turned and began walking, black-fletched arrow clenched tightly in his gloved hand. "Come, the talain are nearby."

Waiting until it was only the three of them, Glorfindel walked over to where the twins stood. Elladan had an arm around his brother's shoulders, and tensed as the blond elf silently joined them.

"Easy, Elladan." Glorfindel re-sheathed his sword, letting out his breath in a long sigh. "That was surprising, but as Haldir said...darkness increases everywhere." He didn't mind admitting his own reaction, not with these two. They needed to know it was not wrong to be frightened. It was what you did with the fear that was important. "Bronwë's reaction was...unexpected, but I'm beginning to think that is the norm with Silvans." He shoved a hand through his hair, still unsettled, and wanting to be two places at once.

"She..." Elrohir's jaw was clenched so tightly he could barely speak, and his hand not holding the sword was gripping his brother's arm almost painfully tight. "T-that was how...how Nana ..."

"Do not," Elladan growled, shaking his brother once. Grey eyes fierce, he pressed his forehead against his twin's. "Naneth is in Aman. She is safe!"

Glorfindel noticed the elder of the twins voice quavered slightly though, and his hand trembled as he held his brother's arm.

"I feel sick," Elrohir whispered. "Her cry...I cannot help thinking of Nana screaming..."

"Leave us, Glorfindel. Join the others." Elladan's voice was curt, bordering on rudeness. "This is not the first time we have dealt with these memories."

"Nor the last, as we both know." Glorfindel nodded, but did not move. He cocked his head as Elladan scowled fiercely at him. "Do you fear I would see this as weakness, Elladan?" Stepping closer, he curled a hand around Elrohir's head, leaning forward to press his forehead against the younger elf's hair. "Peace, Elrohir...peace." Comforting the distraught youth.

Elladan swallowed hard, fighting between his pride and the longing to be an elfling once again. To run into stronger arms and let them hold him, and promise everything would be all right.

But it would not.

Not ever again.

"You think what we do is wrong."

"No." Glorfindel continued to stroke the silky brown hair as Elrohir leaned against him, still clinging to his twin as well. "I know what it is to swear to do a thing and see it through, Elladan. It is a wearying weight, and one that grows as time passes." Slowly he reached his hand out to cup the defiant face, heart nearly breaking at the pride and need warring in the young face. "You cannot do it alone, not even with the two of you."

"You do." Elladan's tone was defiant, but he rested his cheek against the warm solid feel of the hand, eyes pleading for some understanding; for something that would make sense of what their world had become.

"Oh, Elladan..." Glorfindel shook his head, blue eyes bright. "I was alone when I faced the Balrog. Alone when I fell from that mountain precipice, and tumbled over, and over, until we hit the ground." He grimaced at the wretched, painful memory. "Do you think I would wish such isolation on you merely because I would rather you two not ride out alone, hunting orcs?"

Expression crumpling to a wince, Elladan shook his head vehemently. "No!" He sobbed once. "No..."

Glorfindel pulled the younger elf against him as well, holding both of the twins tightly, and closed his eyes. "You are not alone in this. _Never_ alone." Hot tears touched his neck as the twins clutched one another tighter, and clung to him as well. Murmuring, rocking them slightly, Glorfindel began to hum, soothing the weary, ragged spirits of two young elves whom he had loved since he had first watched their parents hold them. Their mother's torture and leaving had ripped apart their world, and they had yet to find the peace their sister attained.

Singing softly, he let his love and pride for the twins blend with the song, washing over their guilt and grief. Soothing them. They had a long ways to go yet for true healing, something better accomplished by those more talented than himself, but it was a beginning.

* * *

Everyone safely up the trees, the group split between several talain, it was finally time to relax and eat. It was a quiet, weary group who settled in the trees, most content to hold to the company of their own thoughts.

Glorfindel spoke briefly to Haldir, going over the next day's plans with the marchwarden and his brothers. Assured their group did not need to take part in the night watches, he thanked them, gaining a quirky smile from Haldir. Then Glorfindel went looking for Bronwë.

It didn't surprise him that she had sought the twins. Healers were drawn to pain and the hurting of others, and in this case those hurting were dearly loved friends. They were sitting at the far end of a talan, their three dark heads close together as they spoke quietly. Glorfindel began to wonder just what they were so deep in conversation about, but his own words with the twins were not ones he wanted to share with anyone. Not even Bronwë. It never occurred to him not to extend to her the same courtesy. He sat back against the tree, watching them converse. yet not close enough to overhear.

There were not a great many strong female influences in Elladan's and Elrohir's lives these days. Galadriel and Arwen were the most notable, but the rest of those close to the family in Imladris were male. Bronwë had been there for the twins' birth, holding them when they were but hours old, and had visited them many times through the years. Her influence on them was lesser than his own, or their sister's, but he could see the affection they held for her in the way they leaned towards her, smiling.

Then again, as he well knew, Bronwë was a comforting personality. There was a peace that flowed from her, and genuine empathy that made talking to her easy.

Glorfindel wondered just what Elladan said as Elrohir shook his head, giving his brother a chiding look. In return he gained a dark frown. Elladan startled slightly as Bronwë touched his shoulder, turning his attention back to her, and the young elf offered a rather apologetic look before bowing his head. A long dark fall of hair blocked his face from Glorfindel's view, and he sighed as Bronwë cupped his face, leaning forward to speak quietly.

Dark brown hair, black in the dimness of starlight, swayed as Elladan nodded. He lunged forward suddenly, engulfing the healer in a tight hug. It seemed to startle her a moment, and Glorfindel looked down as Bronwë tightened her arms around the youth.

It was never easy to lose a parent, regardless of age. Even the fact that their mother had not died, but only sailed truly only slightly eased the pain of the twin's hearts. Celebrían's departure hurt, but in time they would reconcile that. It was her torture at the hands of orcs, the pain that she had endured, that fueled the anger in them. That was what drove them to ride out time and time again to slay orcs.

They felt as though they had failed her. Failed to protect her, to be there when she most needed them.

They were so like Elrond in their self-blame.

He looked over at the trio again, not surprised to see the hug was between three now. It was good to see. The more pain and anger they released, and acknowledged, the more healing would occur. He had done what he could to help the twins, to be sure they did not fall to the same fate as their mother. It was pitifully too little. He wished at times he could steal the ache and pain of memory from them, but that was part of living. Immortal life could be a burden at times, especially when memory became a heavy thing to bear. No, he could not take the pain, but he could help them bear it, be certain they did nothing outrageously foolhardy.

Lost in thought, Glorfindel looked up as he sensed someone standing before him. Bronwë knelt, covering his hands with hers, and smiling softly. "Why don't you go speak with them? They are as elflings again tonight; old insecurities are haunting Elladan especially." He nodded and she squeezed his hand, standing with him. Uncertain what to say, he hesitated, and Bronwë nudged his arm. "Just go sit with them. Strengthen their spirits."

Nodding, Glorfindel wandered over to where the twins sat, two dark shapes so very alike, even in silhouette. Settling to the floor of the talan, he let his gaze rove their faces as they looked up. Sitting very close, shoulders touching, he could see the sadness in their eyes. Intolerable, that, and he patted the wood flooring on either side of him. "Humor your old mentor, you two, and come sit with me." He had expected more of an argument, or teasing, but the two rose gracefully, twin shadows moving to settle on either side.

Sitting close enough to touch shoulders with him.

This close he could sense the insecurities, and lingering sadness. If their grief was still so strong even here in the Golden Woods, then he could well understand why they rode out of Imladris.

Far too many memories lingered there, everywhere they looked, and the trees and rocks of the valley still spoke of the silver-haired lady who had lived amongst them there so long.

Elrohir sighed and leaned against Glorfindel, his head lolling to rest against the elda's shoulder. It had been years since either of them had done that, though as children they had loved to sit thusly and have stories told to them. They had been easier to cuddle then, less likely to pull away. "Tell us about growing up in Valinor. What is Nana seeing now?"

Movement to his left was Elladan slumping a bit, leaning in closer. Waiting until the two were settled, twin warm forms not quite cuddled against him, Glorfindel drew in a deep breath and let his mind wander back. Far back, to his first life and the earliest memories of his home, and he smiled, voice falling into a soft storytelling tone. "You first realize just how blue the sky is, how bright and warm the sunshine is on your face, and how gentle the clean, cool breeze is that blows softly against you. There is a peace there, for that is where the Vala intended for us to live with them, and so placed the longing in our hearts ever to dwell there. It is like...arriving at a place you have always yearned for and realizing it is better than your dreams and longings for it have been."

"Naneth will be healed there?"

Glorfindel couldn't help but lowering his head to rest his cheek against the silky darkness of Elladan's hair, rubbing his cheek gently as a cat would its kitten. "Yes. The Gardens of Lorien are beautiful and peaceful. Nothing dark can dwell therein...not even memories, Elladan. Not long."

"Nothing will hurt her again."

He hesitated, unwilling to lie, not even to comfort. "There are no dark creatures there to hurt and maim, Elrohir. The Vala are there, guarding the land. Nothing can enter but with their blessing."

It was not the reassurances they had received in childhood, when the adults had sheltered them from the harsher realities of life. These were complicated. Uncertain.

Sensing their distress still, Glorfindel carded his fingers through Elrohir's hair, free now from its braid. "I will not lie to you. Life is not certain, I am probably the best proof of that you could ask for." A wry smile from Elladan was echoed in the snort from Elrohir. "Yet your father loves you, and that will not change, as does your mother. Your sister, your grandparents..."

"You." Elrohir's smile was almost playful apart from the sadness still lingering in the grey eyes.

"Yes, I love you both." He chuckled, reaching out to hug them. "You'll not be rid of me so easily, not until we all sail for Aman."

"You'll watch over us as well as father, then?"

"Have I not always said so?"

Elladan shrugged one shoulder, pursing his lips as he looked down. "And if father sails before we do, what then?"

Glorfindel was quiet a moment, before reaching over to lift the stubborn elf's chin until the grey eyes met his gaze. "I will see him to the ship, and remain until you, your brother and your sister choose to sail, Elladan."

That caused a frown, and he scrunched up his face. "What if we choose to remain...as men?"

Sighing for the many, many questions of elves who had once been elflings with just as many, but easier questions, Glorfindel shook his head. "Then I shall remain until you are gone, though it would pain me greatly to do so."

"You will stay." Elladan's gaze was fierce as he stared at the elda, as if exacting an oath from him.

"I will." He didn't understand what was driving the youth to such lengths, but let his sincerity and honesty shine forth as he met the grey eyes.

"I told you we wouldn't ever be alone." Elrohir, leaning against Glorfindel's shoulder, turned his head to gaze at his twin. "Not that we ever are..."

"What about Bronwë?" Elladan sat up, turning partially to face Glorfindel. Some of the day's earlier mischief was returning to his expression. "Does she know all of this?" He sobered suddenly. "Or is this why you have never said anything to her?"

"Glorfindel." Elrohir sat up as well, frowning slightly. "That is why, is it not?"

Why was nothing easy lately? Glorfindel sighed, and shook his head. "There is nothing to blame yourselves for. My choices have always been my own."

"What about Bronwë though? What choices does she have?"

"To stay and wait." Elladan scowled, crossing his arms. "That is not fair to her."

How had the tables turned against him so quickly? Glorfindel looked from one twin to the other, his frown growing. "I do not believe I asked for your advice, either of you."

Recognizing the snap of command in the growl, Elladan shook his head, sitting back. It would do no good to press Glorfindel on this - he would only become more stubborn and refuse to talk. His gaze met his twins and Elrohir nodded.

"Glorfindel, you are as family to us." The twins rose gracefully to their feet. "You cannot tell us not to care."

Elrohir nodded, leaning down to meet the blue gaze. "At least offer her a choice. She has waited for you all this time... I do not think she would turn down the chance to linger in Endor, and be with you at the same time."

A huff was his only answer, and he straightened, shrugging.

"Stubborn old elf." Elladan's tone was mocking, his smile gentle as he nudged the blond elf's boot with his. "At least go sit with her."

"I hope we are not so stubborn in our old age, brother."

"I will not be!" Shaking his head, Elladan snorted. "Once I find the elf-maiden for me, I will not wait until the end of the world, and you had not either!"

"No." Elrohir slanted a look sideways. "But that will be the end of you coming in to my room at Valar forsaken hours just to tell me what happened on patrol!"

"Fine." Elladan sniffed, chin rising. "I expect you to knock before you just stroll in, as well."

Listening to the two bicker amicably as they wandered off, Glorfindel shook his head, smiling slightly. He had no idea what life would entail a second time around when it had been offered to him. His first life had been full of life and laughter. It had been too much to expect his second to be as bright in the increasingly dark times, and yet...

For all the sorrows this life had brought, there was great joy and love to be found. Perhaps he had been limiting the possibilities? Perhaps. Humming slightly, he rose to his feet, and stretched sinuously, relishing the feel of muscle and a healthy, whole body. Like a lion settling his mane, he shook his head once, and prowled off to discover where Bronwë had gone.

* * *

Wrapped in her cloak, portion of lembas still in her hand, Bronwë sat leaning back against the tree. She was looking at the food as if it smelled bad, and he stepped carefully over Faelon, who was already asleep, eyes staring vacantly at the night sky. Glorfindel curled his body into the space between them though it was just barely big enough to accommodate his long legs, and offered an unapologetic grin as Bronwë arched an eyebrow. "You look cold," he explained.

She did, it wasn't precisely a lie. Besides, he felt no guilt at all in moving Faelon over a bit. Nor any in using it as an excuse to move closer to her. None at all, especially if the Silvan was as fond of Bronwë as he suspected.

Yawning, she nodded and leaned into his shoulder, cuddling closer until he shifted to put his arm around her shoulders. Pulling her gently to rest against him, he settled his cloak over her as well.

Wrapping his hand around hers, he turned her hand palm up, and frowned as he saw the lembas was untouched. "You should eat that."

"Not hungry." Muffling another yawn against his tunic, she held the it up, offering the lembas to him. "Do you want it?"

Chuckling, he closed her hand, bringing it up to rest against his chest, covering her smaller hand with his. "Thank you, no."

"My hands are clean," came the cranky reply.

"I know, but I am not hungry." He took it from her, wrapping it up again in the leaf that would keep it fresh, and pocketed it. She might be hungry in the morning. Elrond was much the same after emotionally intense sessions of healing; grumpy and weary. Curving a hand around her head, he gently urged her to relax against him again. He ran his hand down the long braid, loosening the plaits to run his fingers through the soft chestnut brown silk. She relaxed under his touch, sighing once, and shifted slightly, pressing her forehead against his neck. Mouth curving into a tender smile, Glorfindel cocked his head to the side to look into her face.

Eyelids drooping a bit, the grey eyes were glazed in elven sleep.

Resting his cheek against her head, he let his gaze go to the forest, fingers still drifting through her hair, and released his consciousness to wander the dream paths.

* * *

It had been let go far too long.

Erestor sighed as he stood at the edge of Celebrían's garden. For too long no others had dared enter what had once been a bright, colorful area where the haven's lady loved to spend time, tending to the living, growing residents of her garden.

It was overgrown and wild now, shaggy lavender reaching up far beyond a shyer, delicate plant, rife with small, white buds, who dared not bloom whilst so overshadowed. Bright yellow and purple pansy faces bravely peeped out from their fringe of tall grass, and one bright red thistle stood tall and defiant in their midst.

Elrond might not appreciate his doing this, but it pained Erestor to see the garden grow so chaotic. Some would say it was good, letting the plants go back to their natural state, but he was of a mind that neatness and some order, even in nature, was not amiss.

Removing his dark blue velvet overcoat, Erestor pushed the sleeves of his white tunic up past his elbows and knelt, beginning to prune back the unruly plants. As he worked he sang, murmuring to the shyer plants to come and seek the sun again, gently rebuking those who sought to gain all the riches of the soil and sun.

Puffing a long wisp of raven black hair out of his face, he set to his job with as much determination and care as he did the preparation of documents for his lord.

He did this in memory of their lady. For her sons and daughter. Her husband. For the memory of a very beautiful, loving lady who had taken time to soothe him when he had been shaken as a younger elf, intimidated by some visiting dignitary. Celebrían had not only been his lord's Lady, she had been a friend. The beauty of Celebrían had faded, even as she had, tainted by the poisoned wound that let in the woes and toils of the world, weighing down an elven soul.

He would not see this beauty of her hands leave the world as well.

Not yet.

Here then was something he could do for his lord. It was not brave deeds of errantry, or fighting off Witch Kings; those things were not his strengths. To each their talent, their own strengths. So, Erestor, Chief Councilor of Elrond, dug his fingers into the soil, breathing in deeply the smell of pungent loam and roots, of growing things, and for once he did not care that the knees of his leggings, and his hands were getting dirty.

* * *

_**TBC - Thank you for reading.** _


	12. Memory of Trees

* * *

 

Lothlórien was a memory of the past clinging tenaciously to its place in the present.

It was the dream of a childhood home, of finding a world which no longer existed outside the borders of the Golden Woods. Misty, with an ethereal golden light that called to mind the radiance of Laurelin, the haven was a strong reminder of Aman.

An Aman which no longer existed. Even there, the sun and moon lit the skies as they had since the Noldor Exiles first set foot upon Endórë once again. Glorfindel sighed for the memories these younger elves would never posses. They would never see the slow blending of silver and gold in perfect harmony, watch the aureate light first embrace, then gave way to the shyer shimmer of silver.

Sentimental Old Elf _,_ he chided himself. These children had never seen that light, so would never realize what they were missing. It was only the older remnants of those earlier ages who remembered, and tried to recreate it as best they could in a darkened world.

Time moved on, with or without the aid of the Elves. Even Galadriel, who had slowed time's march here, could not forever halt that relentless progression. The Elves lived outside of time's effects, feeling it moving only dimly like a sluggish stream, but saw it clearly in Endórë's people and lands.

And there were beauties in Endórë that those who remained in Aman might never see. Imladris' waterfalls in spring, roaring in full-throated song over the rocks and drops; cascading down like a frothy white veil. The smaller falls skipping down from the heights of the valley in a series of stair-steps to tumble to the bottom, there to join the normally placid Bruinen in a race to the sea.

The Mearas, galloping over the plains of Rohan, flashing hooves kicking up clouds of dust as they raced for the sheer joy of running. The thunder of their hooves rumbling the plains leagues away, and the sounds of joyous neighs like trumpets, sounding that they were still the rulers of the grasslands.

The majesty of the Great Eagles, who soared far above the even the highest mountain peaks. Proud cries reminding those less fortunate, those wingless ones far below, that they were still the Lords of the Wind.

The emerald green of the Shire, and the simple, innocent beauty of her small folk who worked as hard as they played.

Ents, the living, walking trees, whom Glorfindel knew instinctively would never leave Endórë. Searching still for their Entwives, he only hoped Yavanna watched over them. True, they would find staunch allies in the Silvan Elves, but the elves were fading. Leaving.

The pain of leaving these lands, of deserting what they had worked so hard to preserve and nourish, was one he could understand. He did not feel it so deeply as the Silvan and Sindarin elves, but Glorfindel did not like the thought of leaving so much behind either. Aman was more than merely legend to him; it was where he had been born, and where he had re-awakened when first released from Mandos. Olórin had done much in convincing him Endórë still had need of his people, and would, so long as corrupted Maiar still roamed, seeking to ruin them all.

Glorfindel shook his head as he strode along, listening absently to the Silvans conversing with Haldir. Answering question upon question, the usually reserved marchwarden was quite animated as he walked along, the three Mithlond Elves trailing after him like enraptured goslings. It was something he never expected to see, and one Glorfindel filed away for future teasing. They were speaking in Silvan, the language lilting and twisting enough that he couldn't follow, but he caught the word 'Doriath' spoken several times.

Realizing they were quite near the heart of the Elven haven, Glorfindel picked up his pace, following the Silvans a bit closer, not wanting to miss the looks upon their faces when they first caught sight of the city in the huge mallyrn trees.

Bronwë turned to look at him, and the delighted gleam of her eyes and smile called forth an answering smile from Glorfindel. Lothlórien would never be his choice of havens; it harkened back to too many memories of a world lost to him. He could see it was a wonderland of sorts for the Silvans though, and for that, and to see the joyful wonder shining in Bronwë's face, he could have cheerfully kissed Galadriel.

Perhaps he would. If nothing else, the shocked look on his cousins' face would be quite amusing.

 

* * *

 

The beauty of Lothlórien had not been exaggerated. From the time the marchwardens had stopped at the rise, stepping aside with proud smiles to allow them to gaze upon Caras Galadhon, she had been staring.

It was like walking back in time, to the forests of Beleriand. Only there had she felt so sheltered, so protected by the trees that she could remember thinking they would reach out and bar anyone else from following.

Only there had she ever felt so much power.

Galadriel was the Power here, at least that was the impression Bronwë got from the way the marchwardens spoke of their Lady. Their reverence bordered on awe. She vaguely recalled hearing that Galadriel had studied with Melian in Doriath, though that was before she had been born. She vaguely recalled hearing of Celeborn and Galadriel, possibly as her parents talked, but her life had never orbited the same circles as Doriath's royalty. She was the daughter of a simple marchwarden, far more comfortable branch walking in trees rather than pretending to enjoy diplomacy with delegates from far-off lands.

Yet her friends did number some powerful elf lords. Elrond and Círdan were not like Galadriel and Celeborn in the running of their havens. They did not keep themselves set apart from the other races, nor did they bar their havens from any who sought them. It was not uncommon to see humans in Imladris, usually Rangers, and in Mithlond there was a fair-sized population living slightly apart from the elves, but near, nonetheless. Certainly Círdan tended to think of them something of his responsibility, as they lived within the walls of the Old City. It was another thing he enjoyed complaining about, but she had yet to see him turn away anyone truly in need.

Then there was Glorfindel. She looked to where he strode along, talking to Haldir as familiarly as if he visited the Golden Woods all the time, or indeed ruled there. Nothing seemed to intimidate him, and Bronwë couldn't think of a single social situation where she had seen him out of his depth. He dealt with soldiers equally as well as he did dignitaries who often visited Imladris, and treated all to his oft-times quirky humor.

So just what he was thinking, carrying on this long-time flirtation with her? He had been popular in Mithlond in the days of Gil-galad's court, well-loved by those who attended royal functions. Court flirtation was a game in which everyone who participated knew to not take seriously, and so she wondered...was what their dance was? A game? She tried not to take it too seriously, tried to be a good friend...and be content with that.

Yet every season that passed deepened the yearning in her heart, and contentment was becoming more elusive. It did not matter how sternly she told herself to cease with ridiculous hopes and be content with what she had; her heart knew what it wanted.

Whom it wanted.

Their dance was moving to a point where it could be painful, leaving her feeling empty and melancholy at times. But how would anyone take hold of a cloud wandering the skies and bid it to stay in only one patch of blue? Bronwë did not want to change him, not even the habits that drove her mad at times. They were his, some uniquely so, and made him more dear. Such as his fierce loyalty and the quick wit that could coax a shy child into talking...or uncover the true goals of those visiting the havens and petitioning Elrond for the thousand little things people came to Imladris seeking.

Certainly he enjoyed verbal sparring - Erestor could attest to that. Bronwë had been present for more than one of the pair's 'arguments'. One of the more memorable had started at the table, during dinner, on a subject seemingly benign: mead. They argued throughout the meal about the requirements of taste and color, then moved on as the evening progressed to the process of brewing. Finally, while gathered in the Hall of Fire, Elrond grew weary of hearing about honey and fermentation, and told the two to either cease or go elsewhere.

Still arguing, Erestor and Glorfindel had left the rest of their companions to enjoy the music and storytelling.

They had found the two elves the next morning, in the library, surrounded by books and scrolls regarding mead. There were more than a dozen empty bottles of the brew scattered across the table, proof they had sampled for their arguments.

Or so they claimed. No conclusion had been made, but it was determined the two would simply have to sample more varieties of mead in order to reach a satisfactory agreement.

Glorfindel was a contrary enigma, embodied in a joyful, glorious form who drove all those he knew to both love and evade him by turns.

Sometimes in the same day.

He was Glorfindel, slayer of a Balrog, an elf sent back from the Halls of Mandos. He never pretended to be more than he was, and never let anyone treat him as if he was less. Secure and sure of himself, behavior occasionally bordering on arrogant, he could be surprisingly tender. Fierce, aye. He was a formidable foe, and an even greater ally. His loyalty was unquestionable.

And she could not fathom what he possibly saw in her.

He was an Eldar Elf Lord, born to one of the great Vanyar Houses with blood ties to Finwe himself. At one time he had held the title Chief of the House of the Golden Flower and served the High King, Turgon, before his death. Now he served as Elrond's captain and advisor, and was counted a friend to the one elf many had thought would assume the mantle of the Noldorin High King in Middle-earth after Gil-galad's death.

And Bronwë? She was as common a Nandor Elf as had ever been born.

Nor could she silence the fretting voice in the back of her mind that his attachment to her was simply misplaced, or that she was taking it as something more than what he truly felt. She had been his healer, helping him adjust to life again after his re-embodiment and arrival in Mithlond. Patients sometimes felt strong affections for their healers. Most of the time it did not last, and the healing bond dissolved naturally, leaving both patient and healer to go on with their lives. But what if his mind had been so new, so untouched that even the lightest of healing bonds had been overly influential?

Tucking the worry away for later consideration, Bronwë slipped her hand into Faelon's, grinning as he shook his head, dazed by their surroundings. The sheer power of the ancient trees, the land, and the rulers was overwhelming...and blatant, especially when compared to the seemingly simple ways of Círdan. The shipwright preferred a more low-key approach, but the three Silvan elves had both seen the mariner on the rare occasions he had used his strength and powers to calm a particularly destructive storm. They had watched in awe as he had called upon Ulmo...and been answered.

It was all a matter of style, and in Lothlórien, the style was pure, ancient Elven.

 

* * *

 

The twins had left them once inside Caras Galadhon, off to seek their own talan, and a change of clothing. Haldir had, of course, left the larger portion of his marchwardens on watch, but sent his brothers with Glorfindel's guards to show them where they would be housed.

Leaving the three Silvans and Glorfindel to be escorted up a long, winding staircase that hugged the side of what had to be one of the more ancient mallorn. The trunk was wide enough that two dozen elves, holding hands, would probably have only been able to reach half-way around the base.

"It must be..." Faelon stopped, touching the trunk almost reverently.

"Ancient," Bronwë agreed, sweeping a hand along the trunk.

"They're not very talkative." Thalion frowned slightly.

Haldir stopped and regarded the trio with an amused smile. "The mallyrn are very ancient, and speak more slowly than the younger trees." He gestured. "Come, you must meet the Lord and Lady and then I will show you more of our forest city."

Glorfindel, walking at the back of the line, gently herded the trio along. "Talk to the trees later. Come on," he set his hands on Bronwë's shoulders, urging her to move. "They're not going anywhere and will be here later."

She flushed, realizing she'd gotten caught up in listening to the trees, and turned to pull Faelon with her, missing the indulgent smile from the elda.

Glorfindel watched the trio as they reached the top of the talan, where Celeborn and Galadriel sat. The leaders rose, greeting them warmly, and for a moment Glorfindel thought he was going to have to speak in their stead. Thalion recovered first, bowing deeply and greeting them in the name of Lord Círdan of the Grey Havens.

Then he seemed to be at a loss for what to say and turned to stare anxiously at his friends. Faelon was watching Galadriel as if she was going to suddenly lunge forward and grab him

Bronwë stared back at Thalion, wanting to ask what had happened to his grand illusions of equality, but gathered herself as Glorfindel cleared his throat behind her. It seemed easier to speak to Celeborn than the glowing radiance that was his wife. His eyes were kind and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Besides, he was Sindarin, wasn't he? Close kin to their own Silvan and Telerin families. "W-we've brought a sample of a type of fungus, milord. It seems to be decaying the trees, and we've not seen its like before."

"Do you have it here, with you?" Celeborn's tone was kind, as though he understood the elves' nervousness.

Nodding, Thalion pulled the carefully preserved sample out of his cloak pocket, unwrapping the leaves from around it before he held it for the other to examine. "The trees were thinning, and we found this after a bear came through, marking his territory."

Celebron pursed a lip, moving a step closer to look more carefully. "Hmmm...quite odd."

Feeling the weight of a stare on him, Glorfindel turned his head, arching an eyebrow as Galadriel met his gaze. A smile played along her mouth, blue eyes examining his eyes as if delving for secrets. He offered a challenging grin, knowing if he did not wish her to read his thoughts, she could not.

"Welcome, cousin." Stepping closer, she drew him aside, her hand on his arm. "I admit that hearing you were accompanying our guests from Mithlond was a surprise."

Smiling easily, Glorfindel nodded. "Elrond had no need of me, and it had been some time since I visited the Havens."

"He bade you to leave, in other words?" Now a smile curved her mouth, and true amusement gleamed in the lady's eyes. Then it faded, and was replaced by an immeasurably sad gaze. "How does he fare?"

Glorfindel frowned, looking at the wood of the talan as he pondered his choice of words. At one point, he would have happily spoken words of anger to his cousin for not attending her daughter more closely after her capture and torture. The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had come to Imladris only once.

Only once, and Celebrían had been their only child. It seemed both insult and the height of insensitivity.

With time, and some distancing of his anger, Glorfindel realized Celebrían had most likely said something, perhaps even farewell at that first, and only parental visit. For while Galadriel might not be the warmest of parents, nor the easiest of elves to understand, her husband had been openly distraught at what had befallen his daughter.

Lips twisting into a grim smile, Glorfindel again met her gaze. "It is a wound that will cease to ache so fiercely with time, but one he will bear until they are together again in Aman."

Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment, turning her head slightly away. When she turned back to look at him the pain was clear for him to read, only for a moment, and then she was again...Galadriel. "She was as strong as our beloved Niphredil, but only for the season given her."

It was a fatalistic thing to say, and not one Glorfindel shared, but considering the strength of the female before him, understandable. Galadriel had been through much, most of it due to her own stubborn will. Whatever she had done, and not all of it was good or right, she faced the consequences unflinchingly.

While he could say things that would be inarguably true in relation to her family, and her own actions at Alqualondë, Glorfindel could sense her pain, hidden deep, and had no real desire to make it increase. Instead he placed his hand over hers. "You will see her again, Galadriel. The Valar will not bar you from Aman for all time."

His words were spoken with calm certainty that brought a slight smile to her face. "You seem to have a talent for Seeing, cousin. Perhaps I should put you before the mirror..."

Glorfindel stepped back, breaking the contact. "No." He gazed at the trio, still speaking with Celeborn. "I believe you will find at least one of those three more willing to See, though I do not think they will seek you."

A smile curled her lips again at that, before she tipped her head a bit to one side. "What ails Mithlond?"

"I do not know." Glorfindel grimaced at the memory of the jellyfish. "But I would turn my attention to the sea were I to look for something."

"Come, you are weary and, no doubt wish to rest." Celeborn extended his hand and smiled as his wife accepted, grasping his hand lightly. "Haldir will escort you to talain we have prepared for you."

"Might I send word to Círdan that we arrived?" Bronwë tucked a braid behind her ear, feeling very much like a small elfling in the presence of the ancient elves. The feeling was annoying. Círdan was as old, if not far more ancient that the pair before her, but she was used to the shipwright...and Círdan never revealed what he was capable of so openly. This sheer, unadulterated power was unnerving.

"Of course." Celeborn's pale blue eyes lit with an amused gleam as he turned to his marchwarden. "Haldir, will you escort Bronwë to the hawks when her note is written?"

Was that a grimace on the Silvan's face? Bronwë cast an anxious look at Faelon, wondering if she had somehow erred.

"Ah..." Haldir's voice was not quite sincere, but he bowed low before straightening. "My pleasure." He shot a frown at his lord before turning to the guests. "If you will follow me, I will show you to your talain."

 

* * *

 

"I suppose you feel quite at home with the idea of sleeping so far off the ground, perched like some odd birds in our nests on these limbs?"

Bronwë looked up from writing her note to find Glorfindel leaning against a branch nearly as thick as he was tall. The branch went through her talan, complete with budding branches whose leaves were just starting to unfurl. She found it utterly charming. Nodding, she looked around the spacious room happily. "I love it here." It was airy, with the walls formed by the branches and a few artfully placed walls, giving the entire area the feeling of outdoors. "I can even see the stars from my bed!"

"Because you have no ceiling, Bronwë." Eyes twinkling, Glorfindel strolled into the room, checking into each corner and even the wardrobe as if he expected something to be waiting to pounce them. "I thought the chambers at Imladris were open enough, but this is taking it entirely too far."

Recognizing it for teasing, Bronwë ignored his prowling and went on writing her note. "I suppose they put you on the ground then?"

Shaking his head, Glorfindel chuckled. "No, they actually placed us all quite close to one another." He pointed to where a grey-blue hanging fluttered in a light breeze. "I am there, and your friends are just over there." Pointing again, this time to a spot halfway between where the branches of the huge tree formed a 'v'. In the center, where the main branch of the tree continued on and out, there was another talan, with a table and chairs set up.

Soft, small white lights, unnoticed until the sun set, began to glow, and Bronwë laughed, delighted with the beauty. "I have never seen anything like this!" Gazing out with admiring eyes around the ethereal beauty of the haven, she sighed. "It is ...almost painfully beautiful here."

Now silver light flooded the haven, mixing with the silvery-blue moonlight to create an otherworldly setting. Trees, appearing as if washed in silver, mixed seamlessly with the graceful architecture of the Galadhrim. Glorfindel nodded, gaze distant as his memory called forth the beauty of Telperion.

Sensing the shift in his mood, Bronwë stood and walked over to stand next to him. She didn't touch him, but watched the melancholy drift across his expression as some scene played out before his eyes. Whatever the memory, the emotions were powerful. She felt the swirl and tug almost like an emotional echo, and just made up her mind to leave him to his memories when he blinked.

A flick of an eyelid, and quick as that it was gone, replaced with a depthless gaze that called to mind Lothlórien's rulers. A gaze that held starlight and sorrow in equal measure with timeless wisdom. It held her, and she found herself staring at him, enraptured. Glorfindel's gaze traced over her face, soft smile warming his features as he lifted his hand to trace the curve of her face with his fingers. "Do you remember the starlight? Before the coming of the sun and moon?"

Bronwë shook her head.

"So young?" Sighing, he curled his fingers under her ear, cupping her jaw in the palm of his hand. "You would have loved Aman back then, Bronwë." The quickening beat of her pulse under his fingers was mesmerizing, as was the scent of her hair, her skin. Moonlight frosted her dark hair and touched her eyes with a luminous glow. Reaching his other hand up to her hair, he traced the delicate weave of the braiding from temple to the soft skin behind her ear, smiling softly as she shivered under his touch. "It is eternally beautiful, never fading...but I find it pales next to much of the charm Endórë holds."

The ocean answers the moon's pull, rising and falling in tides, seeking closer to the call of the silver globe always out of its reach. He was more appropriately the sun, but it mattered not at all. She answered his attraction, closing the space between them, tangling a hand in his hair as he brushed a kiss over her lips, pulling him closer still.

A discreet clearing of the throat and the soft scuff of leather on wood alerted them that someone was waiting in the doorway, and Bronwë pulled away first, ducking her head as heat rose in her face. Pressing her face into the cool skin of Glorfindel's neck and shoulder, she felt as well as heard him chuckle. "Haldir."

"My pardon, milord." The marchwarden bowed his head, a smile curving his mouth. "But I was told to lead Bronwë to the mews so that a hawk could carry a message to Lord Círdan."

"Of course, and your timing is amazing, as always." Hands curling around Bronwë's shoulders, Glorfindel eased her back and smiled as he saw the flush of her face. "Adorable," he murmured, chuckling again to see the pink darken in her cheeks. Kissing her forehead, he released her and stepped back to offer an elegant bow. "I shall seek to find you again later, milady." One last nod to Haldir and Glorfindel left the talan.

Flustered, Bronwë nodded, and hurried to the small desk where the note she had written still lay. Checking to be certain the ink was set, she rolled it up until it was a very small, compact scroll. Only then did she turn to face the Silvan waiting patiently at the doorway.

Haldir's expression was inscrutable, but the pale blue eyes were lit with a mischievous glint that was far too familiar.

Sighing, Bronwë walked over to him. "Say it before you burst, Haldir."

Two pale eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Milady, would I dare mock you, whom I've only met but today?"

Tapping the scroll in the palm of her hand, Bronwë considered the question, wishing the heat in her face was not quite so telling. "Indeed, you would. To my face though, if you please?"

Smiling a bit more, he stepped aside, gesturing her ahead. "There is much to be said for Silvan bluntness in lieu of the Noldor love of words."

"Which means?" Even the tips of her ears were burning, and she was grateful for the softer light of the moon.

Snorting, Haldir fell into step, guiding her along with flicks of his fingers to indicate which direction to go. "You are brave, milady, to take on one such as Glorfindel."

"I'm not sure I would say I've taken anything as yet." The heat of her face increased but Bronwë's voice remained steady.

"I would." Haldir smiled as she turned a startled glance on him, and guided her off onto a different pathway, one that led out over a deep, dark drop. Silvan, most definitely. She didn't even flinch at the slight swaying of the bridge, but merely adapted her walk to the movement.

There really was nothing to say to his words, and Bronwë wisely remained silent, her mind turning in dizzy circles.

It seemed that she was finally to find out precisely what Glorfindel intended...and the thought was both intoxicating and terrifying.

* * *

_**TBC** _

_**Thank you for reading!** _


	13. At Last

**  
**

* * *

Somewhere a night bird was singing, the sweet, sharp sound echoing through the moonlit silver of the Elven Haven.

The song was a sharp contrast to the thoughts of the elf walking the wooden pathways of the Galadhrim City. He had seen bloodshed, both that of Elves, and Men, and been the executioner for more Orcs than he cared to think about. Time in Mandos had restored his innocence, but there were nights Glorfindel woke from dreams to stare at his hands, wondering why the blood of his foes did not stain them.

Elrond had been right in speaking to him. Had been right in reminding him there was more to life than duty and honor; so much that he had closed off to himself. His friends had long ago set aside the sword in favour of more peaceful endeavors. Elrond had turned his attention first to his wife and children, and later, healing and chronicling lore. Erestor had wrapped himself up in the study and keeping of the chronicles, and the not inconsiderable task of ordering the day-to-day routine of Imladris. Círdan had ever loved his ships and the sea, and turned his attention to making certain the ships that carried Elves to the Undying Lands were the best that could be built. Gildor...wandered. His was ever a restless soul, and Glorfindel knew his friend longed to return to Aman, to the lands of his birth. Until that was possible, Gildor wandered, seeing most, if not all of Endórë.

So many of those he had called friend dwelt still in Námo's company, or perhaps had finally been released to eternity in Aman.

Glorfindel was a being apart, even amongst his own race. How many had memories of dying, of dwelling in the formless dark, before being allowed to be housed once again in a form of flesh and blood? Lúthien and Beren had been returned, true, but as mortals. Only Mithrandir truly understood the power that Glorfindel had been granted, and had been the one instrumental in convincing the Elf to return to Endórë.

But Glorfindel doubted, at times. Doubted the purity of intention, the purity of his heart. Wondered if perhaps Námo had made a mistake and should have sent Ecthelion instead. Or Fingon. Fingolfin, Rog, Egalmoth, Duilin. Any of the others who had died to save their people, countless others who were far more worthy.

His sacrifice had granted him power nearly akin to a Maia.

And set him apart from all.

Elrond might tease him about his duty and honor, but it was not only that which held the golden-haired warrior back from...more.

"Glorfindel."

He stopped, knowing whom it was that called his name even before he turned. A sardonic smile curved his mouth as he faced her. "Cousin."

If she was at her most mysterious, the he surely must be what all had come to expect; a river, seeming placid and smooth, but with untold depths. Ready wit that was never far from being sparked gleamed in his eyes.

Both appeared to others as though the world and its events ruffled not even one of the golden hairs upon their respective heads.

"Join me." Not quite a request, and yet spoken softly enough to skitter just past being a demand.

Arching one elegant eyebrow, Glorfindel met and held the gaze that had felled many a proud being as it plumbed the depths of their souls. His soul had been tested already, and found worthy. There was nothing to fear from her gaze. Instead he smirked. "What stirs you this night, cousin?"

Side-by-side, the two High Elves paced grandly through the twilight of the Galadhrim city, feet barely bending the grass. Two elves touched by the power and glory of Aman. One, forged in the fires of harsh lessons learned out of pride and a desire for power. Exiled, her brothers dead, their people scattered and her daughter beyond her reach. Galadriel was indeed wise, but every lesson, every long millennia of her life deepened the blue of her eyes, the length of her gaze, until gazing into her eyes was as though looking into a depthless well. Eyes that saw through, and saw within.

His power was born in the dying flames of a city that had for long years now slumbered under the waves. A sacrifice willingly made, accepting his own death to gain life for others. Foolhardy. Reckless. Proud. He had been called many things, yet few could stand against Glorfindel when he chose to reveal the true power granted to a re-embodied elf. Darkness could not stand against it, and yet he was content to stand at the side of those called powerful; to aide them instead of leading.

Galadriel revealed her power openly, reveling in it in true Noldo fashion. Glorfindel preferred to never reveal his mind openly, but rather like a card player jealously guarding his hand keep everyone guessing.

If she was the Queen, then he was the Wild Card of unanticipated worth.

"You will have to someday admit that your desire that led you first to these shores and back yet again are more Noldo than the calm contentedness of the Vanyar."

This again. It was as old as they were, this rivalry of Houses. He laughed, the sound mingling with a breeze dancing through the budding branches, tickling the lichen and tightly curled leaves alike. "Have I not always called you cousin?"

Galadriel nodded, reaching up to shift aside a willow branch that dipped and trailed its leaves along the grass like a lord bending a leafy head in a bow. She wasted none of the verbal games their people were so fond of. Prying information out of her cousin was more suited to Dwarvish thinking; blunt and applied repeatedly. "They are strong, the Sindar, the Silvan." Stopping, she turned to face him, to meet the now wary gaze. "The Nandor have not the blessings of light and wisdom gained from our time in Aman and yet..." A smile curled her lips, lightening her eyes. "...I would dare any to say Celeborn is less than I simply for never having seen the Trees or sat at the feet of the Valar."

Seeing only clearness in a gaze that too often held only riddles, Glorfindel pursed a lip, considering her words. "As you said of Celeborn once?"

Amusement deepening, Galadriel nodded once, before settling, regal as a queen on a golden throne, though her throne was but the bent up, gnarled root of a mallorn. "We thought them darkened. Savages. Living as they did in the darkness with only starlight for illumination, how could they be anything but dark? We called them Grey Elves."

Leaning back against an opposing tree, Glorfindel crossed his arms and steeled himself to patience. Conversations with Galadriel were rarely quick.

She surprised him, striking as swiftly as a falcon swooping down upon unwary prey. "She is Nandor. Silvan and Telerin, with no title to redeem her to your family, cousin. What will your father say to that?"

The frown he leveled on her had silenced many, intimidated and cowed the uncertain.

Galadriel merely arched one delicate eyebrow and tilted her head to one side. Challenge issued...

...and accepted.

"What is it to you what my father thinks of my choices? He never agreed with me, not my leaving the first or second time." Glorfindel shrugged. "My choices are my own, as they have always been."

She looked up through the trees to the stars twinkling above in the velvet darkness of night. "I wed one of the dark elves, Glorfindel. I bore a daughter who, though beautiful, had not the strength of you or I." Sadness crossed her face, a lingering shadow of the pain of a mother who though called one of the Wise, could do naught to save her daughter.

Golden hair bound back from his temples in thick, twisted braids, fell forward as Glorfindel bowed his head to honor the memory of both friend and lost kin. "Celebrían had strength, Galadriel." He looked up, meeting her gaze. "I would not condemn her as weak."

"You have lived many years alone, setting aside your own wishes for those under your watch." Galadriel's low voice fell, soft now, the barest whisper of a breeze rippling over still water. "I know what it means, Glorfindel, not only to sacrifice of yourself, but to love one of those so-called darkened ones. They will give you all - their heart, their soul, the key to the very person they are, and yet..." A wistful sigh whispered of sadness. "You will never entirely possess them." Dropping her hand to her side, Galadriel dug her fingers into the dirt next to the tree, bringing up a handful of the rich, dark soil. "This is entwined as deeply into their beings as the trees that sink deep roots into the earth." She let the soil slip through her fingers, to fall back to the grass and roots. "I long for Aman, for home." She looked up. "Celeborn is home."

Glorfindel frowned, taking in her words and sifting through them for his own meaning. He watched her dust her hands together, watched as the brown soil fell from her hands and left them white again. "I have returned from Aman already," he said quietly. "I found I could not forget the beauty and strength of Endórë, nor leave her and her people to darkness and do naught." He spread his hands, searching for the words to express the depth of what he felt. "Even darkened, our kin here never succumbed to the evil, but instead found strength in these lands. It is no wonder to me their lives are so deeply rooted here. They gave of themselves and took what was offered. I do not understand it entire, but..." Glorfindel paused. "Yavanna is beloved of them, as much so as Elbereth, you know. Did she give them some manner of strength through the trees and creatures they both love?" He shook his head as she was silent. "Not even the Wise dare say."

"You understand them." Galadriel stood. "As much as we may, at least. Elrond will not remain upon these shores forever. He wearies of the burdens placed upon him." Glorfindel nodded. "I know you strengthen him." Seeing no indication of agreement, only the other elf waiting for her to continue, patient and still, giving away nothing.

"When he leaves, will you go with him?"

It was a question he had pondered lately. To leave, return home to his family, or remain in a place that was dear. Glorfindel straightened. "I do not yet know." He shrugged lightly. "The twins are likely to remain, you know. I have promised I will not abandon them should they choose to stay here."

"You have watched over their family a long time, cousin." Galadriel smiled and began walking. "She would be a good reason to remain as well, perhaps?" Stopping, she met his eyes. "Celeborn will not leave Endórë with me. If you seek to know what is in the hearts of those who cannot leave...speak to him." Mischief twinkled in the blue eyes. "Or take courage and speak to your lady. Speaking to her cannot be worse than that which you have already faced."

Glorfindel snorted as she laughed, walking away and leaving him with her words, and his thoughts.

* * *

Gazing at the endless maze of walkways that wound around the Mallyrn, across the chasms between trees, and throughout the forest haven, Glorfindel paused. The only sounds were that of Elves singing, and far above, the sound of the night wind teasing the branches and leaves of the trees.

It came to the him that he missed the ever-present roar of the waterfalls so much a part of Imladris. This was a quiet haven, tucked away, deep in a protected forest, and while the Last Homely House was protected, it was anything but unknown. There were always beings of some sort seeking aide and refuge, and often Elves on their way to the Grey Havens came through for a last visit before Sailing.

Movement from the shadows caught his eye and he turned, hand dropping to his belt knife in habit. Chiding himself, Orcs did not make it this far into the tree city, Glorfindel leant against the trunk of a Mallorn, crossing his arms in a casual pose. "These boards suspended between and around the trees are for walking upon, you know."

"Truly?" The amused voice floated down from higher above, the speaker hidden in the labyrinth of branches. "But tell me, my lord, what does the dead wood under your feet tell you of this realm or those who dwell here?" Stepping down to a lower branch, Bronwë mimicked his pose, arching an eyebrow. "Does it tell you when rain last fell or how many eggs are in the nest of the thrush family just to my right?"

"Nay." Quite solemnly Glorfindel first leant over to peer at the ground far below, then straightened and kicked his boot heel against the walkway. "It holds me securely in these heights that I might seek the mad Elves who would rather roam in trees rather than down where things truly grow."

"This is not growth?" Gesturing for him to come closer, Bronwë waited patiently as he mocked an exasperated sigh before obediently walking over to see what she was wanting to show him. "Look here. There are buds on these branches. New leaves will unfurl and these, hanging here still, will soon cover the ground while their new sisters and brothers bring fresh golden glory to the mallyrn."

The mockery left his expression, softening as he saw the clear admiration in her face. "Yes, t'is a beautiful sight." Holding up a hand, he waited for her to take it. "Had we more time I would tarry that you might see for yourself the Golden Wood in spring, but…"

"We cannot linger." True regret showed in her face as the wood-Elf sighed. Accepting his hand, she leaped lightly down, arching an eyebrow at his obvious perusal of her. "Have I ripped my gown? Leaves in my hair, or dirt on my nose?" She rubbed a finger across her nose, eyebrows arching.

"No." Glorfindel's grin widened. He wanted to say it was perfect; the setting, the beauty of the night and the warmth of the breeze. That there was no other he would rather spend it with.

But not here. Not where any might come across them and interrupt.

Again.

Mischief made the blue eyes twinkle as he shrugged. "I merely wondered how it is that the Valar decide to whom and where to grant their graces."

Merely? Bronwë stared at him for a moment, at a loss to even guess where his mind was. "Ah." The deepening of his grin made her realize her ruse was in vain, and she waited for the true teasing to begin.

"How it is that you," Glorfindel released her hand to walk around her, "wearing quite a fetching gown, nary a braid out of place, can walk unmolested amongst the branches, whilst I, in trousers that allow much freer movement, blunder into every protruding branch that seeks to send me plummeting to another death."

Dimples appeared as Bronwë laughed at his woebegone expression. "You do not blend into the background at any time, my lord, nor do you take the time to listen to the advice the trees would give, but rather go your own way and seek to bend them to your will."

"I have seen and heard that blasted Willow in the Old Forest, Bronwë. It would tell me to sleep and have done with my cares and worries." He sighed and looked up at the trees. "They are capricious things to me, and I much prefer the ground, or a creature I can reason with."

Thinking of his many passionate debates with Erestor and Saelbeth, even Elrond when the whimsy struck him, Bronwë patted his arm. Did reason truly have anything to do with Glorfindel at times? "Yes, well, I've no doubt that your horse appreciates that."

A snort as he offered his arm. "Oh, yes, a creature of pure logic and motivated solely by the promise of a good rub-down and extra oats at the end of the day. I'm not certain I would use reason and Nimbrethil in the same sentence." He brightened suddenly. "Did you get your note sent?"

"I did." Bronwë turned as Faelon, Thalion and Haldir dropped lightly to the walkway. "Haldir has been showing us the mallyrn and offered to escort us around the city."

The marchwarden bowed his head, lips pressed tightly together to keep from showing a smirk at the dismayed look on Glorfindel's face at the news. "T'would be my pleasure." He couldn't resist adding, "Of course you may come with us as well...though you do not walk the green ways so well, do you?"

Ignoring Faelon's snicker, and Thalion offering the blandest smile that surely hid his amusement, Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. "No," he answered, casting a frown at Haldir's innocent dismay. "I do not."

"Go without me." Bronwë set a hand on Glorfindel's arm, shaking her head as Faelon began to protest. "Glorfindel has been here before, and I've no doubt he can guide me about the city." She arched an eyebrow, the slightest of smiles curving her lips. "Right, milord?"

Had she asked him to fly at that moment, he might have tried. "Of course, my lady." Glorfindel took her hand in his, and shot a smirk at the others before turning. "Have you seen Lord Amroth's Flet? 'Tis known to be a lovely spot, and only a slight ways outside of the walls."

Faelon scowled as the pair walked off, shaking his head. "What does he know of living outside walls? He was from Gondolin!"

"You would do well to remember one thing." Haldir spoke mildly, but the mirth had faded from his pale eyes. "Though he may act the arrogant fool at times, Lord Glorfindel slew a Balrog, and sacrificed himself for those under his protection." It was a thing no warrior sneered at, regardless of how annoying the blond elf was to them. "You could not ask for a better ally to fight with you against this darkness that shadows your haven."

"Besides," Thalion elbowed his friend, earning a grunt. "You had your chance and decided you were better just being friends."

"That does not mean I want her to leave us." Faelon stared gloomily out at the city. "I had hoped she would find someone in Mithlond."

The smile returned to Haldir's face. This young Silvan reminded him of Rúmil, his youngest brother. "All things change," he stated softly. "Even the Elves cannot remain here forever." Resting a hand on Faelon's shoulder, he nodded. "Come. Let me show you the beauties of Caras Galadon."

* * *

The ring of silver trees encircling the gold enchanted her, as he had thought they would, but she sighed as she looked up at the largest tree in which the talan had been built. "So much sorrow. Theirs is a sad tale."

Glorfindel nodded. He had heard Nimrodel's lay sung both in Lothlórien and Imladris. "Perhaps they have found one another again  
by now."

"'Tis sad she left Lothlórien." Bronwë knelt to breathe in the delicate scent of the white and yellow flowers growing around the mound the talan was built upon. "There is a promise in these trees for her. A promise that must have been comforting when her love was away."

"Promise?" Glorfindel looked around the trees, but saw no carvings or runes. Then he realized what she meant; the silver and gold circles of trees, the silver a symbol of betrothal and the gold of wedded vows. "I had never noticed." He pursed a lip, thoughts and gaze going to the northwest where Moria lay dark and silent. "Many of the people of this land fled when she did."

Bronwë followed his gaze to the dark mountains. "Durin's Bane." She shivered with the memory; it had not been so long ago, just over four hundred sun 'rounds that the sad events had happened. "Those who came to the Grey Havens to sail to Aman in those days told of Nameless Terror that was awakened by the Dwarves." She turned to look at Glorfindel, his attention still far away. He had never admitted, even to Elrond, precisely why the Valar had sent him back, but the question haunted her. Would the Valar be so cruel as to ask him to battle yet another demon from the First Age? He would, she knew him too well to doubt he would help those who could not defend themselves. "Do you know what slumbers in those depths?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Glorfindel turned and his smile faded upon seeing the fear in her eyes. "There are things that awakened long before our people in the deeps of Arda, things best left undisturbed."

"But it awakened once. Who is to say it will not again?" Bronwë shook her head. "Would your cousin flee or stay to fight?"

He was never one to guess what Galadriel would do, but he would put gold on her fighting rather than running. "Bronwë." Glorfindel took one of her hands in his but hesitated. It wasn't the unknown creature she feared. Mithlond was far away as was Imladris. "Do you fear I will race to challenge the terror of Moria directly?"

"You've done so more than once, Glorfindel." Her gaze was steady, unflinching. "Elladan and Elrohir gave me vivid accounts of your facing down the Witch King."

To scoff as if it was nothing would be a lie. Glorfindel nodded. "To save Eärnur from his own foolishness, yes." He snorted. "For all the good it did, but in all the time you've known me, have I given you cause to think I was going to go and dig up some demon to battle?"

"You fear little, if anything."

Said quietly, so much so that he knew this was not a time to jest and be jolly. Glorfindel sighed as he squeezed her hand. "That does not mean I'm going to march to Moria and hunt those halls to see what sleeps there, Bronwë. I promise you that I have absolutely no desire to do so, nor to seek any other spawn of Morgoth still left in this world."

Which was probably the best promise she would get. Glorfindel was Glorfindel. He would do whatever he had to regardless of the cost. "Whatever shall you do in Aman, where the Valar themselves watch and protect?"

The smile was genuine, warming his eyes. "You think I cannot simply enjoy life?"

"Of all those heroes of old they sent you back." She poked his chest with her finger. "You, who drive Elrond and Erestor to distraction with your restlessness, and what do they do? Send you to Mithlond to pester Círdan until he chases you out to go riding with the Rangers. I know very well that Elrond has sent you to seek Mithrandir and I promise you we all quake at the thought of what adventures you and he get into!"

Glorfindel chuckled and caught her hand in his, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Nothing half so bad as when I've travelled with Gildor and his merry band." Catching the reluctant twitch of a smile on her lips, he winked. "I admit, I can be a little restless."

"A little?" She looked to Amroth's Flet and turned away. "What else does Lothlórien hide?"

The beauty of the Golden Wood was endless and for a time they simply wandered through the forest, listening to the soft hoots of owls and the repeating chirp and song of the nightingale. Crickets filled the air with their songs and from somewhere far away came the deep thrumming of a frog.

Glorfindel kept one eye on the tree tops, half-expecting Haldir, or Faelon, or the twins, to be spying on him. Just because he didn't spot them did not mean they weren't there, and he stopped to stare back at a rabbit who popped up to sit on its hind legs, watching them, ears nervously turning. It hopped away at the hooting of an owl, and the elf smiled. Many times on night watches in Imladris they would spot fox kits playing rough and tumble games, or does with fawns grazing in the meadows.

He turned and found Bronwë had stopped and was now sitting in a crook where the spreading branches of an ancient oak formed a seat. "Haldir told us tomorrow we will meet Lord Celeborn's arborist."

"Today." He smiled at her quizzical look and pointed to the moon. "Ithil is already beginning his journey westward."

Bronwë nodded, finger tracing the veins in a leaf. "Haldir said he is ancient, one of the Silvan Elves who recalls these lands before the sun and moon." The smile quirked as she looked up. "Older than even you, perhaps?"

Leaning against the oak, Glorfindel pretended to miss the jibe. "The sun rose as we arrived in Middle-earth, though you are far too young to remember that."

Apart from an arched eyebrow, Bronwë let it pass. "I wish you could come with us, but Haldir told us it is a journey best made through the trees, to the ancient groves the elders consider sacred."

Deep in the forests then. "Did Haldir say which direction? Not towards Mirkwood."

"No." A wrinkle of the nose told him what she thought of that. "The sacred woods are not darkened. Haldir said not even the Nazgul venture so deep into the forests." Eyes silvered in the moonlight met his gaze. "No harm will come to us."

He'd met Avarin Elves more than once while journeying with Gildor Inglorion. Fey and fierce, far more wild than their Noldorin cousins, Glorfindel had no doubt of their ability to defend their forests. "Do you promise to return after you meet with them?" At her surprised look, he sank to kneel before her and took her hands in his. "Not to wander the deep forests, lost for all time to their enchantment? I imagine the temptation is strong."

Bronwë shook her head, a slow smile curling her mouth. "Not so strong."

"No?" And here it was, the perfect moment. No twins dropping in on him, no Haldir interrupting him. No Faelon to distract Bronwë. His heart was pounding as if he had been running but Glorfindel had faced the unknown with a willing heart before. Hadn't he left all that he had loved not once, but twice to see what else was out there? "I always thought the reward for my sacrifice was being allowed to return to Middle-earth, and it still can surprise me that the Valar chose me." He brushed his thumbs over the back of her hands. "I have an admission to make to you, Bron. From the first time we met there was something about you that held my attention, even before I could speak and you had to teach me Sindarin again." She smiled and he squeezed her hands. "But you were my healer and you were betrothed, so I distanced myself from you. And even after Aldamir died, and time passed, I didn't say anything, even when I was certain you were starting to love me." Glorfindel shook his head and met her gaze. "All that time I let pass. I cannot call back the time wasted, Bronwë, nor the days and nights you spent alone, faithful to one who was as restless as the wind." He pressed her hands to his heart, knowing that it beat faster at her touch, the closeness and warmth of her body and spirit. "I can only offer all that I am, my soul, my body and my heart, faithful to you alone."

Her smile melted any doubt, chasing the fear away as the wind chases the clouds and Glorfindel laughed as she threw her arms around his neck.

Bronwë leaned back to frame his face with hands that shook as she saw for the first time the unveiled depth of his affection in his gaze. "My _lacha_ ," Bronwë said, "never tame, burning so hot and bright." Joy bubbled up and shone in her eyes. "There was never anyone in my heart but you, Glorfindel. I accept and offer you everything that I am, if you'll have me."

"I will." His laugh was deep, husky, as he wrapped his arms around her to pull her even closer against him. "Oh, aye, I will..."

* * *

Elrohir elbowed his brother, nodding once to indicate direction. "Look who it appears finally agreed to take the vows."

Leaping to his feet, grinning in a way that was sure to make even the bravest soul wary, Elladan threw himself forward, launching across a drop to catch a branch, hop up on it, and trot down the length until he was ahead of Glorfindel and Bronwë who were walking, arms around one another, looking quite content.

Elrohir grimaced. It was a shame to ruin such a perfect moment for them, but the force of nature that was his twin hit the walkway with a muffled thump and grinned at the startled couple.

Time to go rescue his impetuous brother. Taking the less direct, but far saner route, Elrohir jogged up in time to hear the end of his  
twin's question. To his surprise, it was not the embarrassing question he had first feared.

"...not moving Mithlond. Are you?"

Glorfindel had pushed Bronwë behind him, reacting on instinct, having never expected any elf to do precisely what Elladan had just done. One glance told him she was startled but amused, and he turned to face the twins. Both waited to hear his answer, one holding utterly still, the other drumming fingers against a thigh. Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head. "We haven't even talked about when we'll be wed. Or where."

"If I may?" Bronwë peered around the Glorfindel's shoulder, uncertain of breaking the moment.

Elladan nodded, expression one of impatience.

Meeting Glorfindel's gaze for a moment, she faced the twins. "Imladris, without question, will be home. I would not  
presume to ask Glorfindel to move."

One nod, and the tension bled out of the elder of the twins. He ventured a quirky smile. "Which just leaves the question of when." He winced as his twin hit his arm and frowned at him.

"You have the sensitivity of an Oliphaunt sometimes, Adi." Elrohir held out his hands to Bronwë, smiling, and bent to place a kiss to  
her hands before straightening. "Congratulations, Bronwë. I hope you realize what you're doing."

"'Elrohir..." Glorfindel growled, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance.

"He snores, you know." Elladan ducked the swipe at him, laughing as he danced back. "Once word of this gets out, you're going to have a great many females mad at you."

"They gave up on him years ago," Elrohir said with a shrug.

"Right." His twin snorted. "Except at every celebration or whenever he manages to land himself in the infirmary, and Adar has to chase off the willing volunteers to attend him."

"Then it's fortuitous that Bronwë is a healer." Glorfindel pulled her to his side, gently squeezing her shoulder as she leaned into  
him, smiling.

Spotting two familiar forms on a walkway, Bronwë met Glorfindel's gaze. "If you don't mind, I'd rather tell Faelon and Thalion  
myself."

Glorfindel leaned down to brush her lips in a kiss. "I don't mind."

She smiled and reached up to touch his face before leaving them, heading on a course that would intercept the other two Silvan Elves.

"I can't believe you finally asked her, Gofi." Elrohir grinned as the blond elf rolled his eyes as expected.

"I'm glad." Elladan's voice was quiet, surprising the other two with the solemnity of tone. He shrugged, seeing the surprise on both of their faces. "You've been alone...forever." Scuffing a toe of his boot against a plank, he shrugged again. "And maybe now some of your attention will be off Elrohir and me."

"I should hope so," the younger twin said dryly.

Glorfindel stepped forward to pull the two into a tight hug before releasing them. "I'll always have time to keep an eye  
on you two, and your sister."

"And Adar."

Elladan grinned suddenly, grey eyes twinkling. "Until you have your own elflings."

Glorfindel blinked, and stared at the youth.

"You do know where they come from, right, Gofi?" Elrohir elbowed his former mentor.

The twins snickered as Glorfindel grinned. "Oh yes. I most certainly do." Winking, he left them staring after him  
speculatively.

"You don't think..."

"No." Elladan frowned, caught in his twin's doubt. "No. Do you?"

Elrohir chewed on his bottom lip a moment. "Arwen will know. She knows everything about everyone back home and here."

"Come on then!" Elladan gestured impatiently.

"Adi...she's sleeping."

"So?"

Twin feral grins were mirrored in one another's face before they turned as one and prowled for their sister's talan.

* * *

"What is this really about?" She hadn't been asleep, but rather had heard her brothers approaching and gone out to meet them. The trio sat on the edge of an unused talan at the edge of the city. Legs dangling, bare feet tickled by a night breeze, Arwen wasn't surprised to hear about the betrothal. "You know very well you'd see it in Glorfindel's eyes, and Bronwë's as well, if they were wed already."

"I'm not so sure." Elrohir held up his hands as his sister turned a look on him that was a little too much like their mother. "Hear me out! I only mean that Glorfindel is very good at hiding what he's thinking. It's why we won't play cards against him."

Elladan shrugged a shoulder and continued to pick the moss off a stick, letting it float from his fingers. "Not Bronwë though."

"They're not wed." Arwen smiled. "Not yet. Did they say when and where the wedding would take place?"

Looking at his brother, Elrohir shook his head. "When no, but the wedding will be in Imladris."

"Traditionally it's a year before a couple weds."

Arwen looked up through the tree boughs to the night sky. "That's a Noldorin tradition."

"Erestor will have kittens if they break tradition." Elrohir grinned. "It wouldn't surprise me though."

Elladan shook his head and set his stick aside. "It will be next spring."

"You cannot know that!"

"But I do."

The smug grin earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs. "If you know something, share." When Elladan continued to smile, Arwen rose gracefully to her feet and looked down her elegant nose at her brothers. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Where are you going?" Elrohir fell back to watch her walk off. "It's late!"

"Daeradar Eärendil is sailing west if you hadn't noticed." Arwen's laughter floated back to them. "It's almost dawn!"

"She won't go ask."

Elladan snorted. "As if Gofi has ever been able to say no to Arwen?"

"He said a lot of things the time she stole his horse. Made her muck out the barns for a week."

"And why did he find out, Elrohir?"

Sitting up, he pushed to his feet and sighed. "I didn't tell, you know. Arwen forget to let the stirrups down. Gofi could hardly fail to notice when the stirrups came only to his knees."

"You let me think-"

"You didn't notice and I didn't feel the need to correct you." Shaking his head, Elrohir sauntered off. "Sometimes it's easier to let the donkey go his own way!"

Waiting until the light footsteps of his twin had faded, Elladan snorted. "I think he just called me a jackass."

* * *

**TBC - Thank you for reading!  
**


	14. To Go Beyond

_"The Mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds."_

Galadriel, Book II Chapter VII, The Mirror of Galadriel

* * *

Haldir came up to the talan to find it a scene of much merriment, and stood for a moment, silent and watching. He smiled to see his lord and lady looking happy. So many dark things came upon the Golden Woods these days, and the lady was often at her mirror. Haldir knew they sought to keep the Shadow away, but he also knew the price paid.

It wore upon them all to be so under the attention of evil.

Ah well. Today was not a day for such things. Shrugging off his brooding, Haldir approached the Silvan Elves, nodding a greeting as they noticed him. "You have not forgotten that this morning I take you to talk to the elders, have you?"

"No, of course not." Thalion glanced at his companions.

"I need to go change into something more suited to traveling." Bronwë bit her lip. "I won't be long. Will you wait?"

"Of course." Haldir bowed his head, smiling slightly. "Unless you take too long."

Shooting a mildly offended look at him, she picked up her skirt and hurried off.

"And here comes Glorfindel, probably wondering what we said to send her dashing off." Faelon sighed, rolling his eyes and spoke before the Elda could. "She went to change because we're going to the deep woods."

"Yes, I rather thought that upon seeing Haldir." Glorfindel nodded a greeting to the guard before arching an eyebrow at Faelon. "Galadriel tells me she wishes to have you three look upon the mirror tonight."

"No." Thalion held up his hands. "I have no wish to see ...anything."

"And if it shows what ails Mithlond?"

"Might it?" Faelon gave a hopeful look. "If there is but a chance, then I will look." He sighed as Thalion shook his head and walked away to stare out at the city. "Don't mind his behavior. Many of our families blamed Melian's magic for making our people too dependent upon her so that when she withdrew her protection we were...unprepared."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow and shook his head. There truly was no arguing with the Silvan Elves. Like the Laiquendi before them they saw things differently than their Noldor cousins. Each kindred had its strengths, and weaknesses. "'Tis true Galadriel studied under Melian's tutelage, but without Melian's protection it is doubtful life would have been so fair in Beleiand." His gaze went distant as a memory that spanned Ages spun back to the latter years of the First Age. "Morgoth was checked in part by her influence."

Not wishing to get into a debate with a renowned warrior of the First Age, Faelon bowed his head slightly. "'Twas not meant as a slight, milord, upon Melian or Lady Galadriel."

Haldir stayed silent. He knew how many of his people felt, especially the eldest among them, and it was not so different. That they dwelt so near the safety of Caras Galadhon did not escape him, for Mirkwood was surely darker yet. Wary they might be of the Lady's powers, but they realized it represented safety as well.

Bronwë, now dressed in the gear she'd worn traveling, trotted up, still braiding back her hair. "I'm sorry for the delay, Haldir."

What was nearly a smirk curved his lips though his eyes showed only good-hearted mirth. "I have heard there are congratulations to be given to you and Lord Glorfindel." He bowed to them. "Considering the circumstances a delay is understandable. I wish you much happiness."

News did travel fast in the haven! Bronwë fought the color that rose to her face and nodded, seeking Glorfindel's gaze. "Thank you, Haldir."

Glorfindel nodded to the marchwarden. "Thank you." Capturing Bronwë's hand, Glorfindel leaned in to press a kiss there. "Stay alert. We are closer to Dol Guldur than I care for and dark creatures roam here moreso than in your home."

"We go with an escort, milord," Haldir assured the blond. "The Golden Wood is well guarded."

"No insult intended, Haldir."

"You could come with us." Faelon smirked at the look the Elf Lord shot him.

"And break my neck in the trees? No thank you." With a last squeeze to Bronwë's hand, Glorfindel nodded. "Safe journey."

* * *

It pleased both of the Mithlond marchwardens to realize they did not lack in the woodland skill of this distant kin of theirs. Too often their own patrols led them out of the woods, to the sandy dunes, beaches and cliffs to aid those who were unfamiliar with the sea. They also had far more interaction with humans than the Galadhrim, who lived quite isolated in their woodland realm. The matter had come up in a discussion the night before, leaving the Mithlond Elves feeling as though the Galadhrim felt sorry for them for having to live around humans. Certainly they did not mind so much, but it was made clear: most wood-Elves were wary of humans and had little, if anything to do with them.

At a hollow where the water ran down from a spring to pool in a grove of ancient trees, Haldir stopped. The guards disappeared into the trees, and Haldir bowed. "You must go alone from here. Do you hear the waterfall?" At their nods, a faint smile curled his lips. "It is not very far. They await you there."

There was a path through the woods, a faint one that Faelon found. He led the way, cautious despite Haldir's assurances they would be welcome. Stepping through a maze of tree-trunks, half-expecting them to come alive and bar the way, Faelon hurried as he saw a clearing ahead.

He stopped as the trees suddenly just ended, only stepping forward as Thalion and Bronwë pressed closer to get a better view.

"Oh."

Thalion nodded, eyes wide. The forest ringed a wide grotto where water had undercut the stone, leaving a deep pool ringed with mossy rocks and a stone ceiling overhead. Water rushed over the rock, creating a curtain that shimmered in the sunlight.

"Greetings, young ones."

Whatever he had expected, this was not it. Faelon stared at the woman, fascinated by the swirling patterns on her skin, patterns that seemed as delicate as lace, as if it had simply grown that way. When he met her gaze, he couldn't help the smile. Starlight glimmered in the dark depths as if Varda herself had scattered some of her gems there as well as the night sky. "I remember elders who had starlight eyes," he murmured, and blushed as he realized he had spoken aloud.

"As do I." Thalion put a hand on his friend's shoulder and gently urged him forward until the three friends stood before the ancient Silvan. "The stars shine upon you, ancient one."

"I am Calaeril." Hand to her heart, she smiled. "It has been a long time since any of our kin has left the seashore to visit us."

"I am Thalion. This is Faelon and Bronwë." Feeling like a child again, Thalion tried not to stare, but the depth of age in her gaze was greater than even that of Galadriel.

"You've travelled far, children." Flipping a dark braid over her shoulder, Calaeril gestured for them to follow. "Come and meet the rest of our clan, and then we will talk of what brings you so far."

Bronwë leaned close to Faelon. "If she's as ancient as I think, Círdan's story of age being the cause of his beard is not quite true."

"I always fancied Ulmo put it there." Faelon stroked his own hairless chin. "It does look a bit like a waterfall."

"How is Círdan?" Calaeril stopped at the edge of the waterfall curtain and met Bronwë's gaze. "Oh yes, I have known him since Cuiviénen, when he built his first boat and nearly drowned in the lake."

She spoke so casually of Cuiviénen, as if it had only been a thousand years rather than long Ages that had seen the sinking of a continent and the return of kin from Aman. Bronwë opened her mouth and discovered there really was no polite way to ask. "He is ...well."

"Stubborn as ever, I imagine."

Bronwë nodded. "Oh, yes."

A laugh and the woman reached out to put a hand on Faelon's shoulder. "Water shouldn't bother you children. Step through and be welcome."

* * *

They arrived back in Caras Galadhon as twilight descended into true darkness, and Thalion left them, going with Haldir and wishing them luck.

Luck.

"As if we go to battle a great dragon." Faelon straightened his tunic, making certain his braids were smooth. It would not do to appear before the Lady mussed, looking like an elfling in from a day's play.

Bronwë was silent, only nodding. She knew a bit more about Galadriel, but only from what Círdan had told her. In the Shipwright's opinion she liked her drama and power, enjoyed playing it up and being the mysterious Ages-old Elf, but he was quick to point out that despite being annoying at times, Galadriel was a power to reckon in the fight against Sauron.

Nor did she think Celeborn, a Sinda, would suffer fools gladly.

They paused at the edge of the sunken area, noting the stream and small pool that meandered through the garden, and the pedestal where a polished silver basin, carefully tended from its gleam in the starlight, awaited its mistress.

Movement and a gleam of white emerging from between two huge trees was Galadriel. "There," Bronwë's voice was barely a whisper as she leaned against her companion and they watched the graceful figure nearly dance down the stairs on the opposite side of the grassy area. Dressed in a white gown, her golden tresses flowing freely down her back, she appeared to gleam almost as a candle in the darkness of night.

Stopping, she turned and smiled warmly at the two Silvan elves, lighting her blue eyes to near dazzling. "Come, do not fear. There is naught that can harm you here."

Bronwë gazed into the depthless eyes of one of the most powerful Noldorin elves still walking Middle-earth. It reminded her of the first time she had been left to heal a patient on her own, Elrond refusing to help. She had been hesitant, unsure of her worth, unsure of her abilities. Her hands had shaken, and her voice had quivered, but she had helped a desperately wounded elf regain her health. It had taken many more healings, and years of experience, before she would assert herself, regardless of Elrond's pushing her to be more vocal.

The first person she had ever snapped at, ordered out of a room, had been Gil-galad, though she hadn't realized it until later.

Elrond had laughed until his sides ached.

She had not the power granted these who had stood on Aman, had never spoken with a Vala, and the light of the two trees did not grace her form. It did not matter. She had helped new life into the world, countless times, laughing and crying with the new mother and father as they cradled their newborns. Death was familiar, something that came to those humans living in Mithlond, and too often, their children. She had lived long enough to see countless generations of humans be born and die, and still cared for them. Still loved to hold the tiny babies and wonder at the similarity of the new life and a long-dead ancestor.

Here, in Lothlórien, it was an Elven wonderland, a dream of the glory that had once been theirs. Bronwë lived in the present, in the lingering twilight of elves and the dawning world of mankind. That knowledge braced her, gave her confidence to meet Galadriel's gaze, and to descend the steps, Faelon at her side.

Galadriel's smile never faltered and she gestured the pair forward, leading them to the pedestal that held a polished, silver basin.

Her mirror.

* * *

"Bronwë."

Watching as Faelon glanced back, nodded once and continued up the stairs and out of the garden, the healer turned back slowly to face the Elda. "Milady?"

"Your heart is heavy." Gown rustling as it dragged in the grass, Galadriel slowly walked over to stand before the other elf.

"You saw what the Mirror showed me." Not truly a question; she had seen the knowledge in the pale blue eyes.

Galadriel nodded, still gazing at her as if seeing into her. It would be disconcerting to some, no doubt, but Bronwë knew who and what she was. A Nandor Elf, born of simple people, and granted a healer's talent that had been honed by her mentor and years of practice. She had no airs to hide, no illusions to shatter. Lacing her fingers together, Bronwë met the gaze steadily, aware that there was a bit of curiosity in it, and no small amount of compassion. "It is one thing to have the knowledge that our people will fade, and all we love and have tended for so long pass to the care of Men." Swallowing hard, determined not to cry she waited until she knew her voice was steady. "'Tis another to see."

"Yes."

Shaking her head, she glanced at the basin. "How can you do this, time and again? See the things you do and still continue?"

The smile stayed fixed, though sadness entered the Elda's face. "Could you ignore a sick being whom you could tend? Walk away and not try to help?" Galadriel gestured to the basin. "My strength is here, in fighting Sauron, holding him back and distorting what he sees."

"Elrond foresees." Bronwë nodded, seeing how it all began to fit together. "Círdan as well, though he seems to see further than any. He knows things..." A sigh and she shook her head. "All of it, well out of my reach, though I thank you for letting me look."

"You only think so, young one." Galadriel looked away, gazing up at the night sky. "You have pledged yourself to marry an Elda." A smile tipped her lips as she met Bronwë's gaze again. "My cousin, as you no doubt know. Glorfindel is more than he appears as well."

"Are all who are re-housed after death...as he is?"

"Not all are granted the grace to return here. Only one, and that because of his great sacrifice, though..." Golden waves of hair floated around her shoulders as Galadriel shook her head. "There were others who sacrificed much as well."

Now at a loss for what to say, Bronwë remained silent, waiting to see where the Elda would take the conversation.

"He was greatly beloved of his people, of Gondolin." Galadriel smiled, a small laugh bubbling forth. "Charm and charisma are his in great abundance, as you know. He was thus, even as a child, though he seems...more joyful now."

"He would tell you dying and time in Mandos made him appreciate many things he had previously taken for granted."

"Yes." Galadriel studied the healer. "You will have your hands full, Bronwë. He ever was head-strong and fearless. When bored, as I've no doubt you've heard, he is ..."

"Impossible." She nodded, smiling. "I have seen for myself."

"And will have the means to keep him occupied." The teasing glimmer danced in the pale blue eyes as the younger elf colored up. "He does love you, it is clear to see."

"Thank you, milady." Bronwë bowed her head, hoping the odd conversation would soon come to an end.

Laughing lightly, Galadriel nodded. "We will see you at your wedding, Bronwë."

Definitely dismissed, and she bowed again before turning to run lightly up the stairs, looking back to see the Elda watching her. A nod and she turned, disappearing into the night.

* * *

Glorfindel found Faelon telling Thalion what he had seen in the Mirror, and making plans to leave Caras Galadhon as soon as possible.

"I saw nothing of what is causing the problems, only jumbled images. The Lady said it would be of help once I told Lord Círdan." Faelon paced the length of the talan. "We must leave!" He pushed fingers through his hair, mussing the silver-blond hair.

"We will," Glorfindel answered, hoping to soothe the fretful Elves. "Let us speak to Lord Celeborn in the morning. He will be able to best advise us on the mood of Caradhras and the state of the pass."

"Yes, yes...I see the value of it, I just..." Faelon sighed. "I am hasty in my fear for my home."

Thalion nodded. "We have been given a treatment for the mold as well."

"I will not tarry, I promise. I only want us to be prepared on the journey home." Gaining a slow nod from both Silvans, Glorfindel glanced around. "I'll see if Celeborn is able to speak with us in the morning then." He frowned. "Where is Bronwë?"

"Lady Galadriel wanted to speak to her alone."

"Oh?" A snort, only the Valar knew what his cousin would say, and Glorfindel headed for the walkway. "Until the morning."

Watching the blond leave Thalion shook his head. "This is a rather odd place, for all its beauty."

"I cannot wait to be home," Faelon agreed, sighing and sprawled into a chair.

"Missing your human admirers?"

"OH!" Picking up a cup he threatened the other Elf with it. "You fancy this upside your head?"

"Not really." Thalion grinned. "But you react so violently that it must strike some nerve." Laughing, he ducked as the cup sailed at his head, missed and clattered to the floor of the talan. "Tossing our hosts' dinner wear about, Faelon..."

"I'll toss you over the side of this platform next," the blond growled. With a sniff, he stole the other cup and filled it with wine. "You're an idiot."

"Yes, and I love you too." He smiled at the snort, and went back to fletching arrows.

* * *

"The Mirror is not easy to look into, is it?"

Bronwë let the water play over her hand a moment longer before looking up. "You've looked?"

"I wanted to know..." Arwen joined Bronwë on the bench and sighed. "Naneth." When no response came, she looked at the healer. "Is Adar going to be all right?" She held up a hand. "And before you tell me he's survived all the other things, I know. But this is not the same."

How alike she was to her father. Oh, she had her mother's resilience and beauty, but the grey eyes lacked only the wisdom Elrond had earned from experience and many decades of living. "It is a choice, you know." Bronwë held Arwen's gaze. "Every day, we all choose. Will we let the bitter anger of wrongs done to us and the hurts we never asked for cling to us and weigh us down or will we make a conscious choice to still seek the good in life and to do what we can for others?" She reached out to squeeze Arwen's hand. "There will not be a day when he does not think of Celebrían, or wish that she was with him, Arwen. Don't mistake his remaining her as not loving your mother enough to follow her West. Elrond has made promises that existed before he wed your mother."

"Promises he must keep." Arwen blinked against the burning in her eyes. "I hate the thought of him being alone."

"We all do."

Straightening her shoulders, Arwen looked Bronwë in the eye. "You will not ask Glorfindel to leave him."

Not quite a question, it had more of Galadriel's regal tone, but the anxious look that accompanied it stole the sting. "Never. I would never ask such a thing." She rocked back when Arwen suddenly threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly. Bronwë held her and let the storm of emotion play out. Not a child, no more than the twins, but their world had been changed irretrievably, something she understood only too well. It took courage to move on, to trust that life would be good again.

Arwen choked on a laugh and pulled back, wiping her cheeks. "I am glad, you know, that Glorfindel finally came to his senses about you. You have ever been a good friend, and I know you'll watch over Adar."

"Will you come home for the wedding?" Bronwë wiped the last tear away. "It wouldn't be right without you there."

The smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. "I would not miss it for anything."

* * *

He found her walking not far from her talan, seemingly without direction. "Bronwë?"

Looking up, as if surprised to see him there, she blinked and waited as he came towards her.

"Are you all right?" Glorfindel had never felt the need to consult the Mirror, but he knew that Elrond had, and was sometimes lost in the visions it showed, walking as if dreaming yet.

Seeming to think on it a moment, she shook her head and closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulder. Glorfindel stroked her hair, hugging her to him.

They stood together for a long while before he gently urged her away, cupping her cheek to examine her face. There was a knowledge there that had not been present before, a sadness and part of him mourned to see it even as he smiled softly.

"Here." Removing his cloak, he spread it beneath a tree, and turned to urge her down upon it with him. Leaning against the tree, he opened his arms and smiled as she cuddled in against him. Carding his fingers through the dark hair, he began to hum, and then as he looked up to the stars, sang softly. Gradually the tension left her and he felt her relax, snuggling until her ear was pressed against his chest.

Listening to the steady beat of an eternal heart and finding reassurance in the sound.

"It can be overwhelming, what the Mirror shows."

She nodded, unwilling to move as yet, entirely comfortable in listening to his voice rumble his chest. "You have looked before?"

"No." Bending his head, he pressed a kiss to her hair, and sat back again, lifting his eyes to the stars. "I prefer to take life as it comes to me, though..." With a sigh, he stroked a hand down her arm, tangling his fingers with hers. "You cannot live so close to Elrond as I and not have a knowledge of what will come."

"I saw..." Bronwë swallowed hard, and pressed her lips together, struggling to find words for the visions. "We have long lived in peace."

"Yes." Something of sorrow touched his face.

"These are the final days of our people here in Middle-earth, are they not?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Glorfindel urged Bronwë to straighten so that he could meet her eyes. "The time draws to a close for us, yes." Thumb tracing the path of a tear, he gazed tenderly at her. "T'is hard for you, is it not? You love this land so much."

"It has always been home." Bronwë sighed. "I know Men live and die quickly, so much so that memories are lost and things forgotten, but..."

Glorfindel nodded, still caressing her face. Waiting patiently for her to continue.

Looking up, she grasped his hand, and held it tightly. "At the last, I saw something of what might be causing all of our problems, though it made no sense to me."

"What did you see? Don't try to make sense of it. Visions are often jumbled and take time to understand."

Even so, Bronwë hesitated for a moment. "Eyes in the deep part of the harbor."

Glorfindel's eyebrows rose. "Eyes? Did you see a creature?"

"No." Bronwë sat up and frowned. "Just a pair of eyes, glowing in the deeps." She bit her lip. "There was a rock formation near it that I think I could draw. Maybe Círdan would recognize it?" Bronwë rubbed her forehead, remembering how dizzying it felt. "It was as though I was there, in the water."

"You, in a boat?"

The scowl made him smile. "I'll draw it and you can go find it then."

"What did Faelon see?"

Bronwë shook her head. "He said it made no sense, just random images. Galadriel told him Cirdan would make sense of it."

"Cryptic as ever."

"When can we leave?"

He smiled at that. No matter how lovely, how idyllic the Golden Woods were to the Silvans, their loyalty and hearts lay with their home. "Most likely tomorrow. I'll speak to Celeborn in the morning."

A yawn surprised her, and she sighed, relaxing until her head touched his shoulder.

"Have you grown so fond of traveling that the bed in your talan holds no appeal?"

Snorting at the teasing tone of his voice, Bronwë cuddled closer, and lightly pinched his side, grinning as he grunted and squirmed a bit. Ticklish, eh? She tucked that knowledge away for future use and let her mind begin to drift, eyes already beginning to glaze. "It lacks the one thing I find I want more than warm covers tonight." One last yawn. "You."

Tenderly brushing a braid back from her face, Glorfindel chuckled. Lost to reverie, as quickly as a child, she was already on the dream paths. He shifted, finding a spot where the tree didn't stick a root in his back. Raising his eyes to the stars, he softly sang.

* * *

_**TBC Thank you for reading!** _


	15. Many Partings

* * *

Mithrandir arrived unlooked for the next morning, waving off his escort and striding towards the group gathered at the base of an enormous mallorn. A tall man, aged in appearance, and wearing a travel-stained cloak, he looked as though he had been travelling for quite some time. Shaggy eyebrows drew down over sharp eyes as he raked his gaze over the group. "Glorfindel," he acknowledged, nodding once as he swept the pointed blue hat from his head to reveal an abundance of wiry grey hair. "I had hoped to find you here when I was told you were not in Imladris. Come with me as I speak with Galadriel and Celeborn."

His word were not a request, but then the Istar was an old companion of the golden-haired elf and they did not stand on formality.

"We were just about to leave," Thalion hissed to his two closest friends, frowning at what he saw as a possible delay in their return to Mithlond.

Bushy eyebrows rose as the wizard turned to regard the elves gathered with Glorfindel, and a gleam appeared in his eyes as he saw the dismayed expression on the face of the elf who had spoken. "Elves in a hurry, hmm? Very unusual. Is there a problem?"

The words were spoken in a bland tone, but Glorfindel was not fooled and turned to his friends. "Let me speak with Mithrandir and see what has brought him here." He pinned Thalion with a mildly chiding look. "I will not delay you, but one ignores Gandalf the Grey at his own peril."

As her friend's eartips reddened, Bronwë set a hand on his arm. "Go. We will wait."

Even as he walked forward, Glorfindel heard the three break into whispers in Silvan and shook his head in mild exasperation. Wood- Elves. "You have need of me, Mithrandir?" He had accompanied the wizard on more than one journey, doing what he could to assist his endeavors in Middle-earth. It was no light thing for Mithrandir to ask for company.

"Yes." Mithrandir took hold of Glorfindel's arm, walking him far enough to be out of hearing of even the most curious of elves. "From here I travel to Thranduil's realm to see for myself of the darkening of the woods around Dol Guldur again. What I find will doubtless affect Elrond's decisions as well. I thought you might accompany me."

As he had thought, it was no frivolity that had brought the Istar to Lothlórien. That Thranduil had perhaps even asked Mithrandir to journey to Mirkwood was no small thing, and one he could not ignore. "Is this Council business then," he asked quietly.

Pursing his lips, Mithrandir nodded slowly. "You know Thranduil's requests are never a whim, if indeed he asks at all. He is losing patience with the attitude of dismissal with which they are met."

Glorfindel kept his expression carefully blank and gave only the smallest nod. The woods had ears, not only of the elven variety. One did not speak lightly of Sauruman, even though he thought the Istar's interest in the matter was lacking. "Thranduil requested your visit?"

"Not in so many words." A wry smile curved Mithrandir's mouth, crinkling the skin around his eyes.

For a moment Glorfindel found his attention focused on the wrinkles, fascinated yet again by this form his mentor from Aman had taken to cloak his _hröa_. He would never get used to seeing Olórin as an elderly human; it seemed entirely incongruous to his true nature at best! "I will accompany you." He made a moue of his mouth. "Though the timing leaves much to be desired."

"Oh?"

"You don't fool me." Glorfindel snorted for at the innocent gaze offered in response, and smiled. "You meddle enough already in the lives of Men and Hobbits, pray leave my life to my own folly."

Chuckling, Mithrandir squeezed the elf's shoulder. "Shall I leave you to say your farewells, or do you wish to hear what Galadriel and Celeborn would say to me?"

"I've said my farewells to them already. I leave you to handle them as you see fit." Smile quirking his lips, Glorfindel gave a small bow. "Haldir will know where to find me when you are done."

"We leave before noontide, Glorfindel." Gazing up at the sky, gauging the time by the rising sun, Mithrandir stroked his beard. "I don't fancy searching for the trail into Mirkwood in the dead of night."

"The moon shares his light enough with those who have eyes to see."

It was an old joke shared between them, born of the Istar's seeming frailties in his human form.

"And you glow brightly enough to make Ithil jealous." Shaking his head, he made a dismissive gesture. "Go and offer your apologies to the maiden who watches you so carefully."

Glorfindel let the comment go, merely turning and re-joining the Silvans who waited anxiously.

"He wishes you to accompany him?"

"Yes." Slipping an arm around Bronwë, he hugged her to him and let his gaze go to the other two Elves. "Something has come up that needs attending."

"We are still going." Not so much a question as a statement, said with no small amount of determination. Thalion turned to Faelon who nodded, though he looked to Bronwë.

"We must, and why would we wait here when Glorfindel will return to Imladris once he leaves Mirkwood?" Practicality had been a steady friend through all of her lifetime, and Bronwë saw no reason to abandon it as yet. Smiling for her friend's nods of agreement, she turned to Glorfindel. "Will the Guard go with us?"

"They will." It was a relief that she was not upset, but at the same time her calm acceptance of his leaving was rather lowering. Glorfindel offered a wry smile. "No doubt you three are ready to depart now, but let me go see if they are as well."

"Go on." Faelon shooed Bronwë after him. "We'll wait here." Noting two very pretty elven maidens walking past, he grinned. "And find a way to while away the time."

"Do not say you're sorry."

Bemused smile curling his lips, Glorfindel stopped and faced her. "You're determined to make me feel guilty."

"As if you ever do." Bronwë met his gaze as he took her hands in his, her smile fading. "I have heard it said the only sorrow in Aman is from those who chose to love someone who could not return their affections." Freeing one hand, she lightly traced over his knuckles, smiling at his light shiver. "I knew when I made the choice to love you all of those years ago it could lead to sorrow. You might not feel the same, or there could have been someone else. I knew your life was not entirely your own. You were sent back for a purpose, one that has priority over all things." Squeezing his hands, Bronwë looked up to meet his gaze. "It does not matter to me if today you cannot be with me so long as I know we will be together some day."

Glorfindel had not expected such easy acceptance, regardless that Bronwë had never demanded anything of him in all the long years he had known her. A wry grin tugged his lips. "I cannot decide if I should be affronted that you so easily dismiss me or admit my amazement for such steadfast selflessness." Stepping closer, he pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her. "It gratifies me that you understand, Bronwë, but I would not leave were it not the most dire need."

She nodded against his shoulder. "Círdan leaves the shipyards when Mithrandir arrives, and you know only the most urgent of troubles pry him loose when he's working."

Hands on her shoulders, Glorfindel set her back and smiled. "There is one thing I will not leave without doing first."

She expected a kiss, and her eyes widened when he reached into a tunic pocket and brought forth a silver ring of delicately wrought design. "But I…I have no ring to give you."

Looking supremely satisfied as he slid the ring on her finger, Glorfindel raised her hand to kiss. Surprising her had been worth every bit of teasing he had received in Imladris when Erestor had discovered his plans. "I have all I want."

He would have happily dallied there had his time indeed been his own, but the sun was rising, a reminder of time passing. "And as attractive as that blush is, as much as I'd love to run away with you to some hidden grotto, we have others depending on us."

Drawing in a deep breath, Bronwë nodded. "The sweetest rewards are those longest denied."

Straightening, Glorfindel touched her face. "Be safe. Stay with the guard."

"I will." Bronwë took his hand. Admonitions of not taking chances were useless. He would do what he must. "Come to Mithlond as soon as you may." She met his gaze. "Namárië."

Glorfindel watched them leave, not looking away until the trees blocked them from view.

"They'll be fine."

He turned to find Elladan watching him, a knowing look lurking in his eyes. With a nod, he noted the bow the other Elf was holding. "Are you going or returning from hunting?"

"We've not yet gone." Elladan snorted, then flicking one dark braid back from his shoulder, and began walking. "Elrohir's been engrossed in a tome the past two nights, not even sleeping." Wrinkling his nose, he pushed the quiver so it rested further back on his shoulder. "He's like Adar in that."

Glorfindel nodded. There had been nights he or Erestor had all but dragged their lord to his bed for much needed rest, moreso now that Celebrían was gone, and the rooms they had shared were full of memories too painful to face. "And what has occupied your time?"

Was that a slight flush on the fair cheeks of the eldest twin? Feeling the imp of an urge Glorfindel grinned. "What is her name and does your grandmother know about her?"

Scowling at being so easily found out, Elladan kicked a rock and watched it bounce ahead on the path before veering into a mound of ferns. "It's not….She…" Huffing, he glared as Glorfindel chuckled. "She's one of Arwen's friends and that is all I'm telling you."

"For now." Squeezing the youth's shoulder, Glorfindel nodded to his right, indicating the path that ran in that direction. "Mithrandir and I are going to Mirkwood. I'll return to Imladris from there."

"We'll stay a bit longer most likely." Elladan looked up through the newly-unfurled leaves of a birch, grey eyes reflecting the green for a moment. "Not long though. Elrohir and I have talked and we want to shoulder some of the responsibilities Adar is dealing with now. To take some of that from him and give him more time for things he might enjoy."

"Like reading dusty tomes." Glorfindel smiled his approval. "You two make me proud, you know. " Noting the expression of surprise that quickly turned to a pleased smile, he nodded. "I'll see you in Imladris then. Stars guide your path."

"And yours." Elladan let the sense of satisfaction warm him. He and Elrohir had been treated as adults and, if not equals, then certainly those worthy of regard. That was satisfying, but he really did long for venison for dinner. Whistling a jaunty tune, Elladan went in search of his twin.

* * *

Arwen looked up as a shadow fell across her loom to find Glorfindel stealing the sunshine from her. "Did you come for weaving lessons or to say farewell?"

"I am surprised to see you here in all honesty." Casting a dubious look at the contraption, Glorfindel touched the threads and nodded as a touch of power tingled up his arm. "Learning the fine art of cloak weaving from your Grandmother?"

"It seems a useful thing to do." Standing, she dusted her hands. "Seeing that you and everyone else will not let me roam with the marchwardens or keep watch."

A snort and Glorfindel followed Arwen as she walked out of the talan to stretch. "You miss nothing, you know. Long hours spent in lonely places with only your thoughts for company."

He was sincere, she could see that, but Arwen only shrugged. "Then why not teach my brothers to weave?"

Glorfindel grimaced. "Can you see Elladan patiently working with all of the colors and the concentration to keep the pattern? Elrohir might excel at it, but I daresay the designs he would weave would leave us all wishing he had not."

"They work at the forge."

"What is this about Undómiel?"

A wrinkle of her nose, and Arwen met his gaze. "I know what you and Mithrandir are planning. Promise me you'll do nothing foolish." As he started to protest, she held up a hand. "No, don't bother, I know what you'll say, so don't." A step closer and she poked a finger against his chest. "You need to start to think about Bronwë."

"I do!" Bemused, he smiled as she narrowed her eyes. "I did ask her to marry me."

"You did, and I am pleased." She stared at him for a long moment. "You won't be free to jaunt off at a moment's notice with the Rangers, or my brothers, you know."

"I don't jaunt, Arwen."

The arched eyebrow spoke of dubious thoughts, but Arwen finally sighed. "Life is changing. For all of us."

"Yes." Glorfindel took her hand in his. "It is inevitable, but not all for the bad."

Sometimes she wanted to be that child again, safe in the security that the adults around her would watch over and protect. That nothing bad would happen that they could not handle.

But that was not how life worked.

"I'll return to Imladris for the wedding." A dimple showed as she smiled. "A year from now, I take it?"

She was a butterfly, the chrysalis of childhood falling away to reveal the beauty of the adult, ready to fly away. "Next spring." He took her shoulders and pulled her closer to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you then."

"Namárië." Arwen took a step away then turned to grin over her shoulder. "Gofi."

He shook his head as she walked away, laughing.

* * *

"You are very quiet, my friend."

Glorfindel nodded, absently running his fingers through his horse's mane as they made their way along the banks of the Anduin. She was a steady mare, and he'd promised Haldir he'd see her returned.

Mithrandir studied the profile of the elf riding next to him. Of course Glorfindel possessed the ethereal beauty of his race, but there was much more than that to this particular elf. More than most ever saw, even his own people, who were renowned for their great wisdom. "Something has changed in you."

Now he was granted a smile, one that warmed the elf's face and eyes. "You see it then?"

"I see there is a change, but I cannot say what it is." Even he had some limitations in his present form.

Drawing in a deep breath of the evening air, they would need to make camp soon, Glorfindel reached forward to rub his hand along the mare's neck. "Then perhaps I'll just say that you must promise to come and be present at my wedding."

"Wedding? Ahh..." Nodding to himself, the wizard hummed a soft song as they rode. After a time he nodded again. "Here will do for a camp, don't you think?"

There was a bend in the river, forming a cove of sorts that closed out the wind and put the hill to their backs. Glorfindel unsaddled his horse and grabbed a handful of grass to rub the mare down with before turning her loose. With a nuzzle to the golden hair, she promised not to wander far and began to graze.

Mithrandir unsaddled his horse and rubbed the gelding down before joining the elf, who had by then dug a depression in the sandy ground and encircled it with river rocks for a fire pit. Settling next to the fire, which Glorfindel was coaxing to burn higher, Mithrandir sighed in contentment. It wasn't often he had the company of his old friend, and it seemed he was soon to have it even less. "Galadriel sent along some lembas and I have dried venison as well." Digging in his pack, he pulled out the carefully wrapped food and offered it.

"I could fish if you wished for fresh meat." Accepting a small portion of each package, Glorfindel gazed around, senses alert for any danger.

"No, no." Leaning against his saddle, Mithrandir chewed on the jerky. "Thranduil's hospitality will be enough when we arrive." He chuckled as an image formed in his mind, gaining a curious look from his companion. "I was just thinking, you'll be settling down once you're married." Digging through his pack, he found his pipe and pouch of hobbit weed and began to fill it, knowing Glorfindel would not mind the smell...so long as it stayed downwind of him. "I should think it won't be long before you have an elfling of your own to tend." Blue eyes twinkled in the twilight, growing merrier yet as the elf blinked once.

Glorfindel sat cross-legged, bow and sword near should they be needed, and gazed up at the stars with an expression of deep contemplation. "Once I would have chided you for teasing me so, Mithrandir." Offering a smile, he reached to a small pile of wood and settled a larger piece on the fire. "I had thought such things were not for me."

He had known there were times his friend had been lonely, but Glorfindel's devotion and care for those he had returned to watch over had never waned. Such loyalty was a true gift of the Valar, and one Mithrandir had valued as much as the genuine goodness of his friend's heart. "What changed your mind?"

Lines creased the ageless forehead as the elf frowned. "Celebrían. Her leaving made me realize again how fleeting even our lives can be here in Middle-earth." Pulling a dagger and whetstone from his pack, he set to putting an edge on the knife that would easily split a hair. Always be prepared for the unexpected was one of his favorite sayings. "Elrond all but sent me from Imladris and told me to go make myself happy."

"Were you unhappy?"

Looking up, golden hair framing his face in the firelight, Glorfindel smiled. "Not truly, but there were times I was lonely."

Mithrandir nodded and puffed on his pipe, sending circles of smoke up to frame the rising moon. He knew the feeling as well. There were times he longed for his work to be done, that he could return to Aman, but the road was yet long before him. "Then it is good that you have found someone." Nodding, he met the elf's gaze and let his affection for the other show. "Though I am not certain Middle-earth is at all prepared to put up with the possibility of a child as wild and fearless as you were."

Chuckling, Glorfindel examined the edge of the dagger. "You just fear for that growth of hair on your chin."

Pursing his lips, the wizard stroked his beard. "Well, yes. It does seem to hold some fascination for younglings of all sorts, but elves are by far the worst for curiosity."

"You and Círdan shall have to commiserate and plan together then." Glorfindel sheathed the dagger and rose in one fluid movement. Grinning, he took up his bow and quiver "I'm going to check the area. Don't stay up on my account. I know you're longing to serenade the night with snores."

Mithrandir snorted as the elf jauntily walked off. "Cheeky creature." But his smile held more fondness than exasperation.

* * *

Her greatest fear was that he would sacrifice himself yet again. Bronwë knew his character; Glorfindel would jest and tease, taunt and drive those around him mad, but all who knew him had no doubt he would willingly offer up his life if he thought for the merest moment it would save those he loved.

Was it a flaw to be so fearless? If so, it was one she both loved and loathed.

Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she shivered and leaned closer to her horse, reaching out to stroke his neck and whisper a word of encouragement. They were riding hard for Mithlond, as fast as the horses would carry them. The Shire was just ahead, and beyond that, home.

A snort from the side, and Nimbrethil tossed his head, slowing first to a trot and then a walk. The stallion was normally tireless, eager and pulling at the reins to be off and away, but his neck was lathered, and his nostrils blown large as his sides heaved. The other horses followed his lead, slowing to a walk.

"We –"

"They need to rest." Faelon's tone of voice was adamant as he slid off his horse's back to walk alongside. "They would run until they dropped under us if that was our will, Thalion, but do not ask that of them."

Bronwë slid off to walk between her horse and Nimbrethil, smiling as the stallion nudged her. Combing his forelock with her fingers, she dropped her hand to scratch under his jaw. He had run with them since they had come down off Caradhras and found the horses waiting for them, joyous at their Elves return. The stallion had searched the faces of those returning, wuffling and butting his head against whomever would pay attention. Wondering where his master was. Bronwë had reassured him all was well and that Glorfindel was merely off on an adventure without him. Nimbrethil might have understood, but then again he might have just wanted to go with those who had grain.

"He thinks I am too careless."

Looking up as her friend dropped back to walk on the other side of her horse, Bronwë met Thalion's gaze. He had been pushing the hardest of all of them to get home, certain that something horrid was going to happen if they delayed.

With a last pat for Nimbrethil, Bronwë ducked under her horse's neck to walk with her friend. "Faelon has a stronger affinity for animals than either of us. He is anxious as well, Thalion. We all are." With a slight smile, she squeezed his shoulder. "Círdan has held Mithlond for centuries, against the forces of Sauron and the Witch King. Have faith in him."

Drawing in a deep breath, he heaved it out in a long sigh. "I know, Bronwë! I just feel in my bones that we must hurry. I do not mean it as a slight on our lord." Thalion offered a wry smile. "He alarms me at times. He can seem so mild and then transform into a fearsome power."

"Círdan holds Mithlond and will until our people have left Middle-earth," Bronwë answered simply. Her faith in the Elf Lord was unshakable. He had been a friend, a mentor and sometimes the only voice of reason she would listen to.

"There is a stream ahead." Faelon appeared out of the darkness, startling the two elves, deep in conversation. "We should water the horses, feed them and let them rest." Meeting Thalion's impatient gaze, he added, "Then I believe they will be willing and able to push on to home."

The smile offered soothed over the tense feelings that had been roiling between the two friends. Thalion nodded, letting his gratitude show. "That sounds good, Faelon. Thank you."

One nod, pale blond hair shimmering in the darkness, and Faelon moved ahead to direct the horses to a possible resting spot.

"We're almost home!" Thalion's joy shone in his eyes, and Bronwë couldn't help but answer with a smile of her own.

Soon they would have answers.

* * *

"There."

Glorfindel looked where the Mirkwood scout was pointing and frowned. The forest had a heavy feel to it, as if the trees and very air were pushing down on them. The feeling was oppressive, and he again stifled the urge to stand and charge forward, screaming his defiance of the darkness.

Instead, he balanced on the tree limb, keeping a wary eye for the black squirrels that were wont to skitter past. More than once the blasted creatures had the audacity to attack, but normally they just alerted the rest of the forest to intruders – that was a far worse threat.

Mithrandir nodded, pursing his lips. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the top of the hill where a structure, all but swallowed in the inky shroud of night, and surrounded by a warped ring of trees, sat. "It has the feel of him." He glanced to his right where Glorfindel perched, a soft glow illuminating his form. "Do you agree?"

"Yes." The answer was hissed from between his teeth. Glorfindel was furious. They had driven this evil out once, and it was back. Back and corrupting the once-beautiful forest. It was a deadly threat not only to Thranduil and his people, but to all who still dwelt in Middle-earth. Eyes glittering, battle rage rising, he met the Istar's gaze. "Will you move against him?"

It was clear what the Elda wanted to do: attack and destroy the threat. Wipe him from the face of Arda as they had not been able to do in the battle against the Witch King. Glorfindel was still, at his core, in his heart, a warrior.

There was more at stake here than the golden-haired elf was considering at the moment. "No." Ignoring the incredulous stares of both the Mirkwood scouts and Glorfindel, Mithrandir returned his gaze to Dol Guldur. "No. The time is not yet mine. I will inform Sauruman." Arching an eyebrow, gaze imperious, he met and held Glorfindel's gaze. "You will tell Elrond. Círdan as well, if you go that way, but we will not move without first conferring."

From the rising of tension in the air, it was clear Glorfindel did not like the answer. Jaw tense, he gripped the branch he was resting on, and sent a baleful glare to the structure housing a hated enemy. Confer. Committees. He detested the necessity that now detained him from acting, even knowing it was the most prudent thing to do.

"So we just leave." His whisper was harsh, and he caught the surprised expression on the Mirkwood scout's face. Few would speak to Mithrandir this way, and he rarely did himself, but this decision went against his every instinct. "Leave him here, to threaten and terrorize Thranduil's people."

It was not a mature thing to say, and he knew it, but oh...this goaded him. To be so near and unable to do anything.

"To come back another day and deal thoroughly with it, yes." Mithrandir's voice was terse and the Mirkwood scout suddenly decided to move several trees over . "I know you do not like it, Glorfindel. I do not either." He sighed, shaking his head, grimacing as his beard caught in the bark of the tree. "We need the others. You and I could come against him here, but what if we only alerted him?"

Lips drawing back in a grim smile, Glorfindel's face was suddenly quite feral. "Trust me, I would do more than merely scare him."

"Use your sense, Glorfindel!" Mithrandir reined in his temper visibly, to speak in a calmer tone. "This is not our battle, my friend." He watched as the elf frowned deeply, gaze going again to Dol Guldur, crouched above them like some wary bird of prey. "You must see that."

"I do." Shaking his head, golden braid dancing along his back, Glorfindel let go of his tension and offered a grim smile. "I know, but I do not like leaving him here, as a threat that I know will only grow."

"Nor do I."

The pair of old friends gazed together at the structure, both unhappy and brooding.

"We should not linger." Glorfindel dropped lightly to the ground, his movements soundless looking about, wary for any threat. His gaze went to Mithrandir, also perched in the tree, and reaching up a hand he drawled, "Do you need help or are you able to manage it...old friend?"

Muttering about disrespectful, smart-mouthed elves, Mithrandir ignored the hand and dropped to the ground. If his movements were not quite so light and graceful, nothing was said, for both knew he was far more than he appeared. "We should part now. You to Elrond and I to Thranduil's palace."

Glorfindel nodded. "You to a warm bed and good Dorwinion and I to a long journey over a cold pass infested with Orcs."

"It seems a fair trade." Mithrandir offered an innocent smile. "I am the elder of us, after all."

With a grimace, Glorfindel reached out to squeeze the Istar's shoulder. "Be careful. Stars light your path, Mithrandir."

"Elbereth guide yours, old friend." With a fond smile, the wizard turned and gestured for the Mirkwood scout to precede him. When he glanced back briefly, just to see if the elf was watching or not, Glorfindel was gone.

Mithrandir shook his head and ducked a twisted branch, following his guide.

* * *

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all new material for the next three chapters AND...an ending! Thank you for your patience and for reading! :D


	16. The Thundering Waves Are Calling Me Home

 

* * *

There were elves gathered on the Tower Hills, and Faelon sighed as he recognized several of them. "The Wandering Group arrived early this year."

"What are they looking at?" Thalion slowed his horse before shielding his eyes to look towards the sea and the Grey Havens.

Gildor Inglorion, leader of the group waved them down as they rode closer. He caught the bridle of Bronwë's horse, blue eyes showing concern. "Greetings! Did you come from Mithlond this morning?"

"No." Bronwë swung off her horse. "What is going on?"

"Is there trouble?" He had feared more things would happen while they were gone, and Faelon tried to keep from imaging the worst.

Gildor patted the horse before releasing it to graze. "We sent one of our company ahead to let Círdan know we were arriving but he just came back and told us Círdan is not there and did not return when expected."

"How many days past is he?" Bronwë tried to calm the pounding of her heart. "Sometimes the storms delay his arrival."

Ebony hair swung in a thick braid as Gildor shook his head. "Storms would not delay him from the Straight Path." He looked up to the tallest of the three towers. "We thought to look from the top of Elostirion but the stone sees too far."

"No one knows the sea better than Círdan."

It sounded as though Bronwë was attempting to convince herself. Faelon squeezed her hand. "We're riding to the Grey Havens now. Will you come with us?"

"Let me gather everyone. We will follow in case of trouble."

As Gildor strode off to gather his people, Thalion met his friend's gazes. "I'm sure everything is fine."

Bronwë wished she could agree.

* * *

"Well, this part of town is fine." Faelon smiled for the group of children who were running around and ahead of them. "Have you heard anything from the Havens?"

"A ship left!"

"It took the elves away." The little girl looked at Gildor and his folk with wide eyes. They wore silks and velvets and seemed far more exotic than the elves she had seen before. "Are you sailing too?" She hated to see the beautiful people leave. They were very kind to her and her parents.

Gildor laughed, blue eyes sparkling and caught the child up to swing her around. "Not yet, my fine lass! We merely come to visit friends." He set her down and knelt and was soon surrounded by children. "What of you big lads? Have you heard of any news from the shipyards?"

"My da was down yesterday, lookin' to haggle for a new sail, but he said the lord wasn't there." The boy pushed a thatch of reddish hair from his eyes and scratched the freckles dusted across his nose. "Da said he reckons the Shipwright was gone for a bit."

"And why's that?" Faelon edged away from a grimy child who most certainly needed a nappy change.

Grinning to show a tooth missing, the boy shrugged. "Da says they don' work near as hard when the lord ain't there."

"They sing a lot!"

Looking down as someone tugged on her leg, Bronwë met Damron's brown eyes. "My hand is better. See?"

Dropping her horse's reins, she knelt to examine the hand he held out for her. "It looks like it healed well." Feeling gently along the fingers, she smiled. "Are you back to playing stickball?"

He nodded. "I won't pet any animals though!"

"Wonderful," Faelon said under his breath as the child ran off. "Now he's afraid of animals." Ignoring Bronwë's elbow to his ribs, he started walking. "We have to go now, but we'll see you later."

"Awww!"

"Last one to the dunes is a stinky orc!" The red-haired boy ran off, and with a few waves, the rest charged off after him, shrieking and laughing.

"I think my hearing is permanently damaged." Thailon rubbed his ear.

"You say that every time."

"What?" The grin belied the blank look and Bronwë rolled her eyes.

"She said you must be the stinky orc!" Faelon dodged the hand aimed for his head and began to walk. "Let's find out for ourselves what has transpired whilst we were gone."

Sobering, Thalion nodded and followed his friend.

* * *

"Aye, he was due back five days ago, but you know Círdan." Galdor set his scrolls aside and put a rock on them to keep the wind from carrying them away. "He might have tarried before returning or decided to sail the coast and see how the towns up north are faring.

"His timing is not good." Faelon huffed out a sigh. "The Lady said the visions would make sense to Círdan."

Bronwë nodded. "Has anything else happened while we were away? More animals washing ashore?"

"Another whale, two days ago." Shaking his head, Galdor looked out to the sea. "It is possible Círdan is seeking answers."

Thalion's eyes widened. "From Ossë?"

"Possibly, or from the fisher-folk who live along the coastline."

"Let's go check the forests."

Bronwë nodded. "Thank you, Galdor."

"I'll let him know you're looking for him as soon as he arrives." Offering a smile, Galdor gathered his papers. "Welcome back."

* * *

Walking the grove of affected trees, Thalion sighed. "They are worse, but at least we have the answer to get rid of the mold."

"We will need to thin out the trees too far gone."

Walking the perimeter of sickened trees, Bronwë traced the web that they had set up before leaving. There was another will twined to theirs, one that leant more power to the containment. Ah...so he had helped them, even here. Hopefully his own endeavor was going successfully and would bring him back before long. "What do we need to do?"

"Gather the other wardens. We'll need to douse all of the trees at once."

"I'll go." Bronwë left her friends and headed back towards the town. Hopefully they could take care of one of the problems. The other would have to wait for Círdan. She only hoped he returned soon.

* * *

It was a travel-worn and soggy group of riders that arrived in Imladris just as snow was beginning to fall. "Spring will be delayed with all this snow," Erestor said as he walked up to stand next to Elrond.

"Yes, with more coming behind it." Elrond stepped forward and gestured. "Let's get that younger man to the infirmary. He looks like he's ready to fall out of the saddle."

Elves were already helping the Rangers, taking their packs and helping others, more clearly wounded, off their weary horses. One rider was slower to dismount, and after seeing the horse he was leading, Elrond saw why. "Who is it?"

"Bregor." Pushing back his hood, Glorfindel met Elrond's gaze, his eyes dull with weariness. "They found me coming down from the High Pass and I decided traveling with Rangers was better than alone. The High Pass is getting dangerous, Elrond. Orcs found us not ten leagues from the foot of the pass, and another tribe hunting nearby heard the fight and decided to join."

"How many?"

Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Glorfindel sighed. "Nearly thirty. They are growing in number and intelligence."

Lifting the cloak covering the dead man, Elrond let out a long breath. "He had only joined the rangers last summer."

"We are fortunate there were not more dead."

"Let's get him tended to."

Glorfindel waved off help and gently lifted the limp form from the back of the horse. "See that the horses are rubbed down and fed, Roccandil." Meeting the stablemaster's gaze he shook his head. "Thank you."

"I'll tend to them, milord."

Elrond turned and led the way, stopping at the entrance of a building on the edge of the haven. "He will be safe here. I'll see that someone tends to the body so that his companions don't have to."

"They'll want to bury him tomorrow." Glorfindel laid the young man down and arranged him so it looked as though he was only sleeping. "There was no time to stop on the way here."

"Come, old friend." Elrond rested a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "You've done what you can for him. Now come and bathe so the rest of us can bear to be near you again."

Closing the door to the shed, Glorfindel sighed. "There are letters for you and others in my saddle bags."

"They will wait."

Did he really smell? It was likely, but his nose had gone numb to the odor of unwashed bodies and wet horses days before. "That bad, hm?"

"Truly, my friend." Elrond pushed his friend ahead of him so that he would be downwind. "You stink."

"That's a fine welcome home." Glorfindel threw his cloak over a railing before entering the house. "No, leave it. It needs to be burned." He stopped and turned to find Elrond examining the dark stain on the cloak. "I tried to help the boy. He bled out before I could do anything."

Elrond nodded and took the cloak. "I'm glad you're alive and well, Glorfindel. Find me when you've rested."

As if he would be able to after the hair-raising ride to the valley. A hot bath would remedy many ills though, including his filthy hair. Glorfindel headed for his rooms.

* * *

Three days later Glorfindel and the Rangers were readying to leave. Bregor had been laid to rest under the pines in a quiet corner where the trees watched over a few others lost in the fight, and those well enough to ride were eager to do so. The rest would follow when they were able.

"You just arrived and already are riding out?" Erestor once again stood at the entry to Glorfindel's rooms. "What's your rush?"

He didn't miss the teasing tone and looked up to find a near grin on Erestor's face. "You don't believe I have a desire to ride with Rangers?"

"I believe it wise for you to travel with them, and don't snort, Glorfindel. It's so inelegant." Seating himself in the armchair nearest the fire, Erestor tapped a finger against the leather. "So? Did you find what you were looking for?"

A smile twisted Glorfindel's mouth. "I discovered that Silvan Elves are the most impatient lot of all, and that when you aren't looking they're likely to disappear up a tree."

"It went well then."

Glorfindel laughed and closed the saddle bag. "If you discount the fact that Galadriel and Arwen both lectured me, then yes. It went well."

Dark eyes gleaming with curiosity, Erestor resisted drumming his fingers. "Should we expect your quarters to expand then?"

"No." Glorfindel looked around his suite, the main room, a bedroom and the bathing chamber beyond that. "Though I expect there might be changes to the decor."

"Glorfindel!" Erestor pushed to his feet and huffed. "Did you ask or has your vaunted courage failed at last?"

Slinging the saddle bag over his shoulder, Glorfindel laughed. "Never. She was absolutely stunned by the ring. Thank you for helping me with that, my friend."

"Ah, well. Someone had to or you'd never set a date." Erestor laid a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "Congratulations."

"Thank you!"

Erestor turned and walked to the door. "She does realize what she's in for?"

"She knows." The knowledge that she loved him despite all his years of absence was like a ember that kept his heart warm. "But now, I am off to Mithlond to see what the mystery is all about."

"You think Círdan has it solved?"

Walking through the halls toward the stables, Glorfindel shook his head. "I don't know. 'Tis a strange thing when Círdan himself doesn't know what ails the sea, don't you think?"

Erestor stopped at the door that lead outside. "Unless it is not of the sea."

Stopping, Glorfindel turned. "But rather something that came to the sea, perhaps after all these years?"

Holding up his hands, Erestor shook his head. "I would not venture to say it was ...Isiludur's lost item, but it is a possibility."

"I sincerely hope not. Damned thing caused enough trouble already and I don't fancy cutting it off someone's hand to chuck in that volcano."

"Be safe, Glorfindel. And for star's sake, if you find it on the ground, do not touch it." Erestor still couldn't believe Isildur had been so foolish as to pick up something that had just fallen off Sauron's own hand. Men, there just was no telling what they would do next.

A snort. "As if I have to be told that?" He sobered and nodded. "I'll send word once we know."

Watching Glorfindel stride down the path towards the stables, Erestor blew out a long breath. "First one thing, now another. Can we not have a bit of peace?" But that was the way it was, and moaning over once grand cities and long-lost sunken lands only lead to bitterness. Erestor headed towards the kitchens. There was a litter of kittens born at the apex of the snowstorm and Radhrim had taken them inside and given the mother and her babies a soft nest near the stoves where it was warm and cozy. It was just the thing to brighten his day; new life proving there was always hope.

* * *

_TBC Thank you for reading!_


	17. From the Sea

* * *

"Unusually cold for spring, isn't it?"

Bronwë flinched, almost dropping her mug, and turned to the figure she hadn't noticed in the crowded pub. Sitting in the corner, easy smile curling his lips, Gildor Inglorion gestured. "Will you join me or must I eat in solitude?"

"Where are the rest of the group?" Glancing back to where Faelon and Thalion were in story-telling mode if their gesturing was a sign, Bronwë sat on the bench that wrapped around the corner table. "It's unusual to see you skulking in a corner."

The smile widened. "Can a person skulk whilst sitting?" He laughed at her look and waved a hand, gesturing to the pub in general. "They wanted something a bit more lively and so went to The Last Pub."

Last Homely Pub is what Glorfindel called it, seeing that it was, quite literally, on the docks and where many an Exile or elf sailing West, went for a drink or their last meal in the east. "Mmm. It does have a bit of reputation, only strengthened when your lot comes around."

"When are you going to join us again? Come, Bronwë, you've been here in Mithlond for how long? Moldering away instead of wandering with the last of the truly wild elves."

Bronwë couldn't help laughing. Gildor was always a bit outrageous. "I met elves far wilder than you Exiles."

"No!" Leaning forward, Gildor saw she was sincere and shook his head. "Where are these wild elves?"

"Looking to recruit?"

He sat back and shrugged. "Half of the group I led here are sailing and you know the more we have, the merrier it is."

She had wandered with the group once, traveling to Edhellond and back. He was right; they were a lively group. "You would have to go to Lothlórien and ask Haldir. He could lead you to them, but I have a feeling they've seen ..." Bronwë shook her head, awed again by the age and wisdom of the Silvan elders. "Everything, I should think."

"Ah..." Gildor nodded, eyes gleaming. "The Avarin Elves. Met them once, whilst we were traveling north, just to see what was there." He took a drink from his mug. "It's not every day I meet someone who makes me feel like a young lad again."

She had no idea what kept the Exile wandering from one end of Middle-earth to the next, but Glorfindel laughed and said he had known Gildor in Aman, and even there he had been a restless, wild soul.

"I hear you went to Imladris." Sorrow etched the ageless face, and darkened blue eyes. "How is Elrond?"

It was a question she was beginning to dread. Some of those asking just wanted a brief update, while others wanted juicy details. Details she was not inclined to offer. Bronwë answered simply. "He misses Celebrían and always shall I suspect, until he sails."

"Aye." Gildor shook his head, and silky swathes of black hair fell over his shoulders. "Were I still inclined to fight, I'd take up my sword and join those sons of his in their vengeance." Something infinitely weary crossed his face, disappearing when he met Bronwë's gaze, but she saw it lingering in his tree-lit gaze. "We're wandering that way. I'll send reports of any activity we find."

Bronwë nodded and stood. "Don't sit here alone, Gildor. Come and join us." She held out a hand and was pleasantly surprised when he took it and stood.

"You're not afraid I'll try to woo you from my old chum, Glorfindel?" He winked and held up her hand, where a silver ring glinted in the light of the pub. "Ah, but I see he finally spoke. Congratulations, my dear!"

Flushing as he kissed her hand, Gildor's manners were from a much earlier Age, just like Glorfindel, Bronwë nodded. "Thank you." She tugged on his hand. "Now, come on and say hello to some who just might be inclined to wander with you, like leaves before the wind."

* * *

"The trees are responding well." Thalion prowled across the main room of the cottage, pausing by the large stone fireplace to warm his hands. "Though we did have to winnow out the sickest that were too far diseased."

"We'll have to reapply the treatment."

Copying out a few medicinal tea recipes she thought Elrond might find interesting, Bronwë looked up as the shutters rattled and banged as if an invisible hand was tugging at them. "This storm seems to continue to build."

Faelon, lounging on the floor like a great cat before the fire, nodded. "I'm sure Círdan found a safe harbor."

"We're nearly to the full moon again. Why wouldn't he at least send word?" Shaking her head, Bronwë stared out the windows and the rain lashing the trees. "Every day there have been more dead animals washing ashore."

The wind howled, buffeting the cottage, and she watched a flurry of pine needles sweep past, swirl in the lane for a moment before being pushed onwards.

"Gildor took a group up north, along the coast two days ago." Thalion paced to the kitchen and back. "I should have gone with them."

A snort from the floor and Faelon shook his head. "Then we would be worrying about you out in this storm."

"How did I ever -"

All three froze as someone pounded on the door. Thalion made it there first, and almost caught the door with his face as it swept open with force. Smiling at the bedraggled figure, hair and clothing soaked and blow askew, Thalion turned to his friends. "Look what else the storm blew in."

Glorfindel caught Bronwë's shoulders to keep her from hugging him, and shook his head. "I'm soaked through and carrying a lake in my boots."

Ignoring the admonition, she pulled him inside while Thalion and Faelon struggled to close the door against the wind. "You rode here in this storm?" Without waiting for a reply, Bronwë tugged before the fire. "Here, warm up a bit. Is your horse out in that wind?"

"No, no. I stopped at Círdan's home and left him stabled there. Nimbrethil let me know he was most displeased with my absence, though I think the rain washed away the horse slobber." Glorfindel grimaced at his soaked tunic.

"You're dripping." Faelon wrinkled his nose. "I don't suppose you brought your saddle bag?"

A wry grin and Glorfindel pushed his dripping cloak back before dropping the mostly dry saddle bag on the floor away from the puddle forming at his feet.

"Go get warmed up and into clean clothing." Bronwë pointed to the rooms at the top of the second floor.

Thalion arched an eyebrow at Faelon. "Come on, Faelon. We can get a fire started in the extra room."

As hints went it was far from subtle, but Faelon stood. "Did you and Mithrandir get everything sorted out?"

"For now." Pushing wet hair off his face, Glorfindel sighed for the puddle forming under him. His feet were waterlogged.

Seeing his friend was full of questions that could wait, Thalion grabbed Faelon's arm and pulled him along. "Bring his saddle bag, Faelon. No need to be a bad host."

"This is not my home!"

"Grab it anyhow."

"You don't have to be so bossy, Thal."

Shaking her head as the two friends disappeared upstairs, Bronwë smiled. "They've always been that way. I suppose growing up together makes them see each other as siblings."

"How are you?" He wanted to hug her but he was soaked and his hands were ice cold. Glorfindel settled for drinking her in with his gaze.

Bronwë's sensible side was yammering that she should go get towels, and help him get his boots off. Instead she stared back like an idiot. "I'm worried about Círdan, and this storm is shaping up to be a huge one but..." She smiled and touched his face. "I'm relieved to see you in one piece."

"I told you, I'm too stubborn to die again." He leaned into her touch and smiled.

Something crashed to the floor upstairs and Bronwë laughed, and shook her head. "Let me get you some towels so you can get those boots off before your feet shrivel to prunes."

"There's a lovely image." Wrinkling his nose, Glorfindel sighed as she headed upstairs to see what her friends were doing and hopefully remember the towels. He was beginning to steam from the heat of the fire on his wet clothing. "Returning hero, pffh." He snorted, and sat on the floor to pull off his sloshing boots. "Such a lot of rubbish."

* * *

Glorfindel came downstairs, bathed, dressed in warm clothing, to find a handful of people had joined the group and were standing by the fire in the main room. "...can't believe it still. They've always gotten along! Oh, maybe not the best of friends, but..."

Seated on a stool, tending to a nasty cut on one man's arm, Bronwe shook her head. "Where is Mallor?"

Turning his head, the man almost spat before recalling where he was. Swallowing hard, he grimaced. "Sent him to Himon to get stitched up."

"It was his fault-"

"Enough." Faced weathered to the consistency of near leather, Edraithon took no nonsense from those in his charge whether on the ships or off. His eyes were sharp yet, and glittered with anger. "I don't know what got into you young fools tonight, but any more of your lip, Duron, and you'll be sitting out this season."

Bronwe finished stitching up the wound, and covered it with a greenish paste before wrapping a bandage around the sullen young man's arm. "You'll need several days to let this heal before using that arm strenuously." She patted his shoulder as he huffed a sigh and stood. Seeing Glorfindel standing on the last stair she picked up her kit and headed for the kitchen.

"Have you heard anything from Círdan?"

"Nary a word." Edraithon shrugged. "Shipwright explains himself to no one."

Following Bronwe, Glorfindel waited as she washed her hands before speaking in a low voice. "A fight?"

"Yes." She glanced over her shoulder at the men. "Normally they use words and fists, not gutting knives." Drying her hands on a towel, Bronwe met his gaze. "Edraithon said his was not the first crew pulling apart a bloody fight tonight, and that is not normal."

The townspeople had been peaceful when Glorfindel had lived there, working hard and often rowdy, but rarely violent. "Something has them stirred up?"

Before she could answer, Edraithon cleared his throat, and nodded as they turned. "Thank you, Mistress Healer. Next time you're at market, come by and take your pick from our catch. If that's payment enough?"

"Very generous, thank you." She smiled and the man nodded.

"We'll take our leave then." He gestured. "Come along, we've mucked up the healer's evening long enough."

Two burly fishermen opened the door, and held it as their friends pushed against the wind to go back outside. The door closed with a resounding thump that rattled the glass windows.

"They wouldn't stay." Faelon moved the stool back to its spot. "Stubborn lot."

Bronwe shrugged. "Fisher folk are."

"I'm not going out there." Shaking his head, Faelon reclaimed the cushion before the fireplace. "You're stuck with me." He ducked as Thalion swatted his shoulder. "What?"

"You could at least ask."

"No one is going out until that wind stops." Bronwe tossed a few more cushions on the floor. "There's plenty of wood in the kitchen for the fire and it should blow itself out by dawn."

"You hope."

She nodded as Glorfindel came over to sit near her. "I'll be happy to see blue sky and, hopefully, Círdan."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC
> 
> Thank you for reading, for following the story and for favoriting it! There is one last chapter left and I'll probably put it up tomorrow if anyone is interested. I just hope it's not a disappointment after all this time. *gnaws nails* Take care!


	18. Fields of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: An enormous thank you to EverleighBain who ploughed through this story despite power outages and a rambunctious toddler to text me enough bravery to post this last part. Without Ev there would have never been a completed story.
> 
> Second: A thank you to all of you who waited all those years. I hope it lives up to your hopes. This is dedicated to all of you. Thank you for all the amazing and kind words you gifted to me.

 

* * *

Morning did bring blue sky, and a chilly dawn, with a brisk breeze pushing the clouds east, but it also revealed the damage done to the havens and the town. Walking through the streets toward the harbor, Thalion shook his head. "Someone lost their sails." The canvas was ripped, loose rope still dangling from where it had gotten caught in the baker's sign.

"And a roof or two."

"Oh, no."

He barely heard the quiet exclamation before Bronwë was off like a shot, running for the quays.

"Sweet stars." Faelon had stopped and was staring at the harbor where something bobbed in the water. "Is that...?"

"Come on!"

Glorfindel ran with them past the quays to the beach where a swanship had been run up the beach, the mast half its normal size. Broken and jagged edges of what had been the mast were all that was left. The head of the swan at the prow looked as if something had ripped it off and left it rolling in the waves farther up the beach.

"Círdan!" Bronwë was in the water, trying to push past Galdor and his men to see what was left of the great ship. "No! Let me see. I can help!" She wasn't listening to Galdor as he held her back, but struggled to pull free. "Círdan!"

"Bronwë!" Walking up the beach, Gildor and his folk right behind, Círdan stood at the edge of the water. "Come out of there now, lass. You're soaking wet and it's-" The Shipwright staggered back a step, laughing as Bronwë bolted out of the water to throw her arms around him. "I'm fine, lass, I'm fine. Easy now." He hugged her tightly. "Shhh..."

"It's a relief to see you, old barnacle." Glorfindel shook his head. "We were beginning to think the worst."

Bronwë took a step back, wiping her face as she anxiously looked for any wounds. "What happened?" Her eyes widened and she reached out to touch one part of his chin that was bare. "Your beard."

A snort. "Aye, that patch got pulled right out, but it will grow back." Círdan rubbed the bare spot and met their wondering gazes. "Stop staring, all of you!"

"What happened?"

Leave it to Faelon to ask first.

Círdan sighed and ran a hand through his silver hair. "I can't rightly say what it was but we met some leviathan of the deeps I've yet to see."

"Did it do that?" Glorfindel pointed to the mast and the lolling swan's head.

"Aye." Círdan turned as a fountain of water shot up, glittering in the cool morning light as if suspended in time or held aloft by the wind. "Thank you, Lord Ossë, for your timely assistance." Hand to his heart, Círdan bowed.

The voice was soft and yet thunderous as the waves, echoing with the song of the deeps and the creatures there. The glittering form shifted and took on the appearance of a male elf, though one made of shells and kelp and coral from the deeper oceans. The waters rippled, foaming and shifting from the deepest blues and to the most brilliant of turquoise with green shifting through the sunlit spots. "Such creatures are not meant to be in the waters of your people."

All of the elves bowed to the Maia, even Gildor inclined his head, respectful of the power and destruction this one could call forth. Many Noldorin ships had sank at his command of wind and waves. A wind gusted, pushing the waves against those standing on the beach, and the water surged upward in a violent plume before crashing back to the ocean with a mighty roar that echoed across the bay.

Ossë was gone.

Bronwë let out a long breath and turned to look at Glorfindel. Her eyes were wide but there was a gleam of admiration there that only sea elves felt for one so chaotically unpredictable as Ossë, who never forgot what was done to their kin in Alqualondë. "Now there's something you don't see every day, even in Aman, I would guess."

He shook his head and smiled. "Not even in Aman."

* * *

It was a boisterous group that followed Círdan up the bluff to his home, too many elves speaking at once and making his head ache. "Wait, wait." He held up his hands, and bellowed, "STOP!" This was his commanding voice that could be heard over driving rain and wind, and in the relatively small office, it resounded like a sonorous bell, silencing everyone immediately. They all looked at him, some blinking in surprise, others smirking.

"One at a time, or I'll send you all out to the shipyards to work off this behavior!" Círdan drew in a deep breath, gazing around before nodding in satisfaction. "All right. You. Report."

Thalion's eyes widened at being picked first, but he stepped forward. "The sickened trees have been treated, and those too sick to be saved were harvested and burned, per our instructions from Lothlórien, milord."

"Good. Is the treatment working?" Círdan leaned his hip against the large desk and crossed his arms.

"It is." Thalion smiled. "We hope to see new growth soon."

"Very good." With a smirk, only half-hidden by his beard, Círdan nodded to Faelon. "Out with it lad, before you spill guts here in my office."

He had been tapping impatiently, shifting from foot to foot, but now Faelon blurted, "We spoke to the Avarin elders and then we looked in the mirror and Galadriel said you would know what the images meant because none of it makes sense to me, and Bronwë also looked but I don't know what she saw since she hasn't told me really, and dead animals have been washing up and fights have been breaking out in droves, and -"

"Faelon!" Círdan's lips quirked up in a wry smile. "Breathe, lad, or you'll pass out right here." He sobered and straightened to walk around and sit at his chair behind the desk. "The rest of you, those who didn't go to Lothlórien. Is there aught else to report that must be dealt with this moment, and Galdor, I realize the ship is painful for you. Believe me, it pains me as well, but secure her as best you can so she can't go drifting out to the bay and we'll see to our wounded lady soon enough."

"I simply want to know what's going on." Gildor Inglorion sat gracefully in the bay window and grinned. "I'll stay out of the way."

A snort and Círdan waved his hand. "All right. Go on, the rest of you, I'll find you later and deal with whatever it is. See Galdor until then!"

Seeing how harassed Galdor already looked, Bronwë took up her normal chair near the fireplace. "You're unkind to him at times."

"He practically runs the place, so he can deal with that lot." Not true, but Círdan was well-pleased and leaned back in his chair to regard the five elves remaining in his office. "Galadriel had you look in her mirror, and you did?"

Faelon nodded but said nothing. His gaze shot to Bronwë who nodded slowly.

"Bron?"

Leaning in against the high back of her chair, Glorfindel set a hand on her shoulder. Reaching up, she set her hand on his and sighed. "I saw a place, somewhere in the bay, I think. Lady Galadriel said you would likely recognize it, but..." She hurried to finish before Círdan could interrupt. "There are rocks, but I'm not sure where they are. I didn't recognize them."

"Hm." Running fingers through his tangled beard, Círdan tried to figure out the puzzle given to them. "What is the significance of these rocks?"

"Eyes." Faelon grimaced and began to pace. "I saw two glowing eyes. Something pink flashed past and then a ray of sunshine. There was...something menacing there, something dangerous but..." He huffed a long sigh. "It had little power other than to..." Faelon gestured as if stirring the air. "Agitate the ...what exists down there. It radiated ill will and I think that is what sickens the creatures that go near it."

"And the trees?"

A shrug, and Faelon stopped at a window to look down at the bay. The water stretched to the mouth of the bay and then rippled endlessly to the horizon as if you could sail and suddenly just drop off into nothingness. "Maybe?"

"I saw eyes as well." Bronwë shrugged. "Two glowing eyes that dimmed at times and then flared to life."

It was a fine puzzle. Círdan asked, "When you saw the eyes in the vision, where were you?"

The question took her aback and Bronwë gazed at him for one heartbeat, two, three. "I...I'm in the water. I must be." Her gaze unfocussed as she recalled the vision in the mirror. "Everything is blurred and moves, undulating. I think it's waves? And then, they're just...there. The eyes."

"I know it's not a creature." Círdan shook his head. "I would know if it was."

"I saw -"

"Faelon." Círdan held up a hand, cutting the other elf off. "I heard you, but, lad, I just came from that very bay where you two claim to have seen eyes. There is no creature like that lurking in the narrows."

"There are other ways of seeing than through eyes." It had struck him as he rode through the Tower Hills. Eyes. Glowing in the deeps. Glorfindel turned to the group and his smile was grim. "It is Arvedui's doing, for it was he who lost them in the first place, when his ship sank."

Gildor sat up, eyes narrowing. "I thought the Dúnedain regained the ring."

"Oh, the ring, aye." Glorfindel turned to Círdan, waiting for him to realize just what he meant.

Silver eyes widened in sudden recognition. "The Seeing Stones!"

"But they were lost far north, in the Forchel Bay." Bronwë remembered Círdan readying the ships to sail to the doomed king's rescue. It had been too late. The ice had taken Arvedui's ship and everything and everyone with it. Only the Ring of Barahir had been spared. Arvedui had given it to the Ice men in return for their assistance. It had taken a great deal of persuasion, decades later, for the Dúnedain to regain the priceless heirloom. It now rested in Imladris, safe in Elrond's care.

"Ah, currents can be tricky that way." Tugging on his beard, Círdan's gaze was distant, perhaps remembering or perhaps looking forward. "I begin to see why I couldn't sense anything evil. The stones aren't evil."

"But Sauron could be using it to influence the creatures that live in the deeps." It was purest speculation, but Glorfindel did not doubt. The Maia was canny and always quick to use whatever influence came within his grasp.

"Ulmo rules the deeps." It was a statement, one not up for debate. Círdan sighed. "But Uinen and Ossë ...I begin to see why they would not answer. This is not their predicament."

Something to remember. Glorfindel shook his head. "Do we even have a clue where the stones are located?" He looked at Faelon and Bronwë who were staring at each other.

Faelon shook his head. A grimace and Bronwë turned to Círdan. "If you got close would you be able to sense them?"

"No, lass." A shake of his head and Círdan squeezed her arm. "There's naught to sense. The stones are..." He turned to Glorfindel and nodded. "You might."

"Me?"

The smile was that of someone who was on to something. "You've sensed other items that were imbued with power."

Faelon looked at Bronwë who shrugged.

"That..." Was true. He had sensed the Rings as soon as he set foot upon Middle-earth. Well, as soon as he had regained his mind and known what it was that was throbbing in the air like a drumbeat, nearly alive. "Why could I not sense them then? I stood on this very shore just this morning."

"Take him out on a boat." Thalion looked up from studying the map.

"Ship," Círdan growled with a frown.

Bronwë bit her lip and walked over to look at the map. It showed the shoals and rocks hidden at the mouth of the bay, and the passage where the current was strongest. "There." She pointed to a spot that was notorious for shipwrecks. The waters there were turbulent, dangerously so when the tide was surging in or out of the bay. "I remember seeing rocks near the eyes."

Círdan studied where she was pointing and nodded. "That's a tricky piece of work, getting in and out of there safely. It can only be done for a short time, when tide is at its highest and a ship can get over the rocks." He looked at Bronwë. "You're sure?"

"There was a rock, shaped like..." Looking around Círdan's study, she found a quill and piece of paper. "Roughly like this."

"Is that a recognized landmark?" Thalion waited to be corrected on his terminology but Círdan only stared, lips pursed.

"It is, but it is under water, and it's only a little apart from the wall of the bay itself. It's far enough no one could reach it going out on the rocks."

"I don't suppose you could ..." Faelon waved a hand in the air. "Convince a whale or seal to swim down and nudge them out?"

Círdan pinned the blond with a look. "Do I look like Ossë or Ulmo, lad? No, this is ours to deal with. Elves created the problem, and elves will have to solve it, without the help of Maiar or creatures."

Thalion looked to Glorfindel. "Looks like you're going out on a boa..ship."

"Not today." Círdan pulled another set of charts out. "Not for a few days. We need a full moon when tides are highest if we have a chance of doing this." He tapped the chart. "Three days and we'll have a full moon."

* * *

"So here you are, old chum." Gildor Inglorion slouched in the chair and raised a pint. "Once again poised to leap into battle-"

"Stop spouting rubbish, Gildor." Glorfindel clinked his mug against Gildor's and took a long drink before setting it down. "Though I find it astounding that once again something of Fëanor's creation is causing trouble."

"Not his fault this time, mate."

A shrug and Glorfindel sighed. "This time."

Chuckling, Gildor shook his head. "You're never going to let that go, are you? Despite the fact it was...too many years to count!"

It had, in fact, been Ages, but elven memory did not lose its sharpness, and Glorfindel could remember perfectly. Taking another long drink, he sat back. "Why don't you come with us, keep me out of trouble?"

"Ah, Glorfindel." Gildor winked. "When was I ever able to do that? Besides." Smiling at a group of humans trying to appear as if they weren't watching even as they were watching, Gildor turned his gaze to his friend. "You have someone to think about now, don't you? Someone besides Elrond and his children."

The inn was growing more crowded, and a group of musicians were tuning up their instruments, getting ready to entertain the evening crowd. It was a far cry from the ethereal beauty and near solitude Lothlórien could provide, but Glorfindel preferred the lively atmosphere. He liked to listen to the men laughing as they told their stories and see the women and children dancing. "I do." Turning a lazy smile on his friend, he arched an eyebrow. "Not going to lament for another bachelorhood lost?"

Gildor smiled, but there was a sadness that dimmed the blue eyes. "No. You've been alone long enough, mate."

Leaning forward, Glorfindel nudged his mug against Gildor's. "Don't get glum on me, Gildor. Bronwë will likely get tired of me soon enough and toss me out to go wandering with you and your merry group again." He winked. "Or are you finally going to sail?"

"Not yet." A shake of his head, and the Exile sighed. "Ah, my friend, it's all changing, isn't it? This world, she's been winding down for some time now, the colors dimming, Arian not quite as brilliant."

A morose Gildor was normally a drunken Gildor, but Glorfindel shook his head. "Changing, yes, but you know very well we weren't meant to wander creation for all time." He held the gaze of his friend for a long moment. "You'll have to return to Aman someday."

"Ha!" Gildor sat up and thumped his mug down. "Bar keeper! Another round to congratulate my old chum here on finally braving himself to speak to the girl he loves!"

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that long-"

Laughing, Gildor held up his mug. "To happy endings, my friend! To happy endings!"

* * *

"Are you all right?"

Glorfindel winced and closed his eyes, knowing it was useless. There was no fooling a healer. "My head is just a bit..." He sighed as a cool towel covered his eyes and reached to take the hand smoothing his hair back. "Gildor can still drink me under a table." He rested the captured hand, tangled with his, on his chest.

"What a surprise." Bronwë sat on the divan and shook her head. "You go out on the sea tomorrow with Círdan and the winds are kicking up. I hope you feel better by then."

"Mm." He squeezed her hand. "Be fine in a little while. Just need to sleep." But sleep was a capricious creature, evading him with every heartbeat that echoed the throbbing ache in his head. "You're staying on shore." The silence was telling and he squeezed her hand. "Bronwë." The sea was something she loved, but being out on a ship or boat or any other type of craft that bobbed and rocked with the waves was enough to make the healer queasy.

"Go to sleep."

He opened his mouth to protest, but that sneaky thief sleep snuck up and suddenly pounced him, dragging him down to reverie.

* * *

It was a clear morning, the sky cloudless and the sea so calm as almost to appear as glass.

"You're not going out there."

Braiding her hair back, Bronwë slanted a look sideways and stuck out her tongue. "Fortunately for me, I'm not one of your men to command."

"You'll be puking in a matter of minutes."

"Glorfindel." Braid done, Bronwë turned to face him. "I'll not puke on your shoes, all right?"

He grimaced. "That's what you said-"

"Glorious morning, isn't it?" Gildor sauntered down the quay, smiling brightly. "Which of these lovely ships are we taking out?"

"Who invited you?"

Arching an eyebrow, Gildor quirked a wry smile. "Bit grumpy, are we?"

"I-"

"Come on, don't loiter." Círdan appeared on the deck of one of the smaller swanships and gestured for them to board. "The wind is calm but she won't stay that way."

"Ah. Lovely." Gildor held out a hand and helped Bronwë up the gangway, smiled and stepped right in front of Glorfindel. "Age and beauty first, old friend."

Glorfindel snorted but helped Círdan pull the gangway up. Faelon and Thalion were already there, looking over the sea charts at the prow of the ship.

There was a bustle of motion as Círdan's crew weighed the anchor, pushed them off and dropped the oars into the water. Gildor leaned against the railing with Bronwë. "I remember when swans pulled the ships in Alqualondë." He smiled at her, but the smile faded. "'Twas a true tragedy, burning those ships. They were the beloved jewels of the Teleri, every bit as precious as Fëanor's Silmarils."

She had known Gildor was ancient, but sighed for the images his words called forth. "Someday, I'd love to hear about them."

"Someday." A wink and Gildor straightened. He rubbed his hands together and gave a smile for Círdan. "Are we supposed to row as well?"

A snort and Círdan waved him off. "Fat lot of good that would do, you steering us into rocks."

"Círdan!" Gildor clutched his chest. "You wound me."

Shaking his head, the Shipwright steered them towards the mouth of the bay. Arien was still climbing into the sky when they reached the spot and dropped the anchor. "This is as close as we dare get. Even with a light ship I don't dare scraping her on those shoals." He pointed to a point just past the mouth of the bay where the water roiled even with the rising tide. Turning to Glorfindel, Círdan arched a silver eyebrow. "Well?"

Glorfindel crouched near the gangway, where he could see the water. It was too turbulent to actually see below the surface, but there was something... It was faint, a low song of power slumbering, just waiting to be wakened. A nod and he sat to pull off his boots.

"What are you doing?"

"Someone has to go down there."

"No." Bronwë crouched next to him, face a bit green, but a stubborn line to her mouth. "Let one of the crew. They're far more used to diving in these waters than you."

Setting his boots aside, Glorfindel took her hands. "Bronwë. If Sauron is, indeed, using those palantíri as a conduit the last thing I want is for anyone to touch them."

"But you're going to do just that."

"Here, lad." Círdan handed him a pair of thick gloves, the kind used when handling falcons. "You'd best braid back your hair as well."

Taking the gloves, Glorfindel paused, struck by the oddest sense that he'd done this before. He held Bronwë's gaze for a long moment, watching her frown turn to a puzzled look as he stared. The wind was blowing, cool and thin in the high mountains, carrying the scent of flowers from the garlands hung along the walls. It was so silent, so quiet, even with all the folk of the city gathered along the walls, and -

"Glorfindel."

Hands on his face grounded him back in the present and he blinked. The hands were too small, the eyes too grey to be... "Bronwë."

She leaned in, still looking at his eyes. "You've not had one of those memory flashes in a long, long while."

"I'm all right." He could see she wasn't convinced, but Glorfindel took her hand and kissed it. "Bron, I'm fine."

Still frowning, she sighed and stood. "Let me braid your hair at least before you go."

* * *

Stripped down to breeches and his undershirt, hair tightly braided back and gloves on his hands, Glorfindel stood on the edge of the ship, took a deep series of breaths and dove.

The water was cold, colder even than the day he had swam with the jellyfish, and he realized the storm had likely brought in cooler water. The rocks loomed as dark, hulking figures as he kicked deeper, and he paused next to the largest rock, grasping it to steady himself as the water tugged and pulled at him. Pulling himself along the rock, Glorfindel spotted something that reflected the light of the surface and kicked deeper to get closer.

There. He could see one of the palantír, glowing and slightly reflecting the colors around it. Quiescent, it rolled gently against the buffeting of the current rising in the bay. Good. One was good enough for now.

Then he spotted the other one. It was lit from within, glowing yellow and reddish as if a great eye was watching him, and Glorfindel's eyes widened. This was what Faelon and Bronwë had seen in their visions. A low growl in his throat and he surged forward to grab hold of the palantír. A shock of energy ran through his arms, down his spine and he almost yelled in surprise, but Glrofindel wrestled the stone into his grip and bared his teeth.

_I know you can hear me_ , he thought at the glowing eye. _I know what you've been doing and where you are. Your time is coming_.

Was that mocking laughter, echoing through the water? The stone pulled against him and he tightened his grip, unwilling to let it go now. The eye flared brighter, lighting the dark water and Glorfindel grunted as his back impacted the rock, but he didn't let go. He wasn't going to let go, not now, and not ever.

But the lack of air was beginning to remind him that he needed to surface and Glorfindel tried to kick up off the rock. The palantír suddenly seemed to weigh far too much, even buoyed by the water. Gritting his teeth, he pulled it to his chest and again kicked hard against the rock.

Something nudged his shoulder and Glorfindel almost dropped the palantír when he turned to find the laughing face of a dolphin. It was bobbing in the water before him, eyes bright...

Too bright. And weren't dolphins normally grey and not covered in a silver sheen?

_If you don't wish for aid, I can leave..._

The laughing voice was echoed in a clicking sound that Glorfindel realized was the dolphin who was not a dolphin. He wasn't about to refuse help. _No! I would dearly love your assistance._

Swimming in a quick somersault, the dolphin laughed again. _Do you wish to take them both_?

_Yes, please!_

And quick as the thought, the dolphin dove down and bumped the other palantír with its snout, pushing it up, towards Glorfindel. He grabbed it and held it against his chest.

But still...he could not move.

Eyes wide, he pushed down the panic, panic never helped, it only burned energy and fogged thoughts, and concentrated on pushing his legs up, away from the rock.

Spinning in a graceful roll, the dolphin swam to float before him. _You need to rise, Glorfindel._

Yes, he was aware of that, yet... The palantíri seemed to be weighing him down, holding him hard against the rock. How was it that had had ever forgotten how humorous even the Maiar could be, laughing as they appeared and either announced something or helped you?

He hoped it was going to help.

_You need to remember_. The blue eyes glowed brighter, the clicking laughter filling his ears as air became a very real problem.

_Remember now, Glorfindel. Remember and go now to your reward._ The dolphin nudged him upwards, towards the surface, towards the light that was so bright. His lungs were burning, and again he could not breathe. It was like before, only that had been because fire had seared his lungs from the heat of the balrog and he was falling.

Falling down, deeper and deeper...

Wait. No! Moving yes, but upwards! Soaring, soaring up through the blue, pushed towards the light. Eyes opening wide, Glorfindel held the orbs and yearned with all that was in him for the light.

One last push, the laughing clicks of the dolphin and his head burst clear of the water. He gasped and went under as a wave swamped him. No, he was so close, too close. _Please,_ _ **please**_ , he prayed. _Not yet, I cannot go! I remember! I saw the fields of gold, and yes! Please, I want that blessing.._.

"I've got him!"

Hands strong as steel grabbed Glorfindel's hair, and this time he was deliriously happy that he had left his hair long, the braid easy to grab. "Easy, lad. I've got you."

He was hauled up, coughing and gasping for air, laughing when he could, to lay on the deck. Hands reached for him and he opened his eyes to see Bronwë bent over him, touching his face. Coughing up what seemed like half the sea, he stared into her face and thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. "Got them."

"You did." She cradled his head, stroking back heavy gold hair, looking into his shimmering eyes.

Glorfindel coughed and set the Seeing Stones against his chest, holding them in place. Blasted things. He sagged into Bronwë's hold and met her gaze again. "Fëanor's blasted stones wanted to remain hidden, but..." He touched her face and smiled. "I saw the fields of gold."

"Fields? Glorfindel, you were-"

"They promised. I had forgotten. But I saw them."

"How is he?" Círdan held up a few golden strands of hair, tangled around his hands. "Sorry, lad. Had no other way to grab you."

Bronwë smiled and looked up at Círdan. "He's fine. Grousing about Fëanor, but fine."

* * *

"How could such beautiful things cause so much trouble?"

A snort and Glorfindel pushed aside Faelon's hand before covering the palantíri again. "What concerns me is what I saw, and what you two also saw, in the stones." His gaze met Círdan's. "Was Gondor warned when the stone at Osgiliath went missing?"

"They knew it was the most powerful stone, capable of communicating with any of the others, even intercepting any conversations on the other six stones." Círdan sat back, stroking his beard, gaze distant as he thought. "You think Sauron found it."

"We cannot assume he did not, not after what I saw and sensed." Glorfindel stood and stared at the covered palantíri. "They cannot stay in Middle-earth. To allow them to do so is to invite trouble."

"What about the one in Elostirion?" Bronwë, quiet until then, looked up.

Glorfindel shook his head. "It sees only west to the master stone in Avallónë. There is nothing Sauron could do to it."

"And it's not as well-known as the palantíri Gondor controlled." Círdan nodded as Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. "Aye, I'll send them west on the next ship. It's for the best."

"Shouldn't we warn those who have the other palantíri," Thalion asked quietly. "Let them know what we suspect?"

Círdan stood. "Not until we're certain and not until these two are in Aman." He shook his head. "I'll take responsibility for the decision, lad, don't fret. After that disaster with Arvedui I'm not inclined to let Men have any of the old relics, especially those dangerous to all of us."

Not missing the significant look that passed between Glorfindel and Círdan, Bronwë sighed. Secrets, there were always secrets. Sometimes it made a simple wood-elf feel quite overwhelmed. She stood as well and shook out her skirts. "Will one of you send word to Elrond? He did ask to know how all of this fell out." A glance towards the covered stones and she shook her head. "I'm only going to let him know about the mold and what we discovered."

"I'll send word, unless you're returning to Imladris soon?" Círdan shot a look at Glorfindel who shook his head.

"Let him know." He held out his hand to Bronwë and smiled as she clasped his hand. "I have other important matters to attend to."

* * *

"Gil-galad used to walk that seagull of his along here, didn't he?" Walking hand in hand, Glorfindel and Bronwë strolled down a deserted stretch of beach, far from the shipyards, where the most common visitors were the sea birds who hunted the tidal pools and shallows.

"Lovey." Bronwë smiled. "I admit I liked him better for that bit of eccentricity."

Laughing, Glorfindel pulled her closer and stroked a finger across her cheek. "Did you now?"

"Oh!" Pulling free, she dug in her cloak pocket. "Your hand, please? No, the other one."

"What's this?" Glorfindel stared in amazement as she slid a silver ring on his finger with a smile that clearly said, "so there". "Bron, you didn't have -"

She rolled her eyes. "Right. I know the tradition even if it isn't one the Teler or Silvan share."

Which was part of why he hadn't even asked before putting a ring on her finger. "How did you get the size?"

Her grin grew. "Erestor said you rarely wore any 'ornamentation apart from festivals upon where you would dig out several rings and wear them.' He let me size one of those."

"Did he?" The old sneak. Glorfindel laughed and tugged at her hand, pulling her closer again. "He's right, though I shall certainly wear this ring." A kiss to celebrate left them breathless and he tucked her against his side before resuming their stroll. "At least until we exchange them."

"Still set on a year?"

Looking down he caught her mischievous grin and snorted. "Would you care to explain to Erestor why we forwent tradition and deprived him of the chance to show just how marvelous a strategist he is?"

"It is tempting." Bronwë pretended to consider the question, then halted. "Wait, just what will he be planning? Glorfindel, I don't want this to turn into anything like Elrond and Celebrían's wedding."

He hesitated, almost teasing her, but there was a hint of true anxiety in her eyes and he shook his head. "No, I'll see its kept smallish." Glorfindel grunted as she punched his arm. "What?"

"Smallish?" Bronwë shook her head, adamant. "Family and immediate friends only."

"I have to invite Mithrandir."

"Fine. And Mithrandir." Seeing the teasing glint in his eyes, she pinched his side. "I mean it!"

Laughing, Glorfindel caught her hands and brought them up to kiss. "I shall endeavor to please you, milady."

"You do remember I was here when you were part of Gil-galad's court?" Bronwë nodded as his smile grew. "I know that tone, and you won't sweet talk me into this."

"Bronwë."

"No. I'm not a dwarf to have his axe charmed from him." She refused to smile as he laughed, but her mouth did twitch at the effort. "Oh, you brat!"

Glorfindel caught her in a hug, pressing a kiss to her hair. "All will be well, you will see!"

"I'll hide in my room." Bronwë pinched him again as his chest shook with laughter. "I see now how it will be."

"Is that so awful?" He tipped her chin up and held her gaze, truly concerned.

Her smile was unfettered, full of joy.

And all the answer he needed.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adventure begins, but this story is at -
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> The End! :D
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